The Spartan Chronicles - Continued

[Hydro]

Great Clustering

“These are my babies! Aren’t they beautiful? Little angles every one!” replacement Creche Master Tracie Collins commented, almost to herself. She had become the new Creche Master under ambiguous circumstances after the previous Creche Master’s disappearance. Unexplained disappearances were not unheard of in Hive society, but such incidents always caused furtive whispers and concern in the replacement for The Disappeared.

Although Production Engineer Wilks didn’t say so, her mention of the children as ‘little angles’ gave her away as a former Believer. In these days it was very dangerous to make such slips. Officially the Believers were extinct, but cells were occasionally found and the practitioners reeducated, sometimes using extreme methods. Ever since the uprisings in the four Hive cities that had revolted and proclaimed for Morgan the punishment for ‘incorrect throught’ had become even more brutal.

Marian Wilks looked through the surveillance video that showed the 25 5-to-7 year old children of this crèche. Although disciplined, the pure exuberance and innocence of the young children was painfully evident. In the corner a little raven-haired boy was building block building with a little dark skinned girl. He seemed to be teaching her how to place the blocks in an interlocking pattern to build a bigger and thinner tower. In the center a group of 6 children were playing teacher, with five of them attentively listening to the ‘teacher’ who stood in front of them with her hands in back of her. Throughout this never ending activity were peals of laughter and delighted squeals.

“Yes, they are fine children,” Marian said in as clear a voice as she could. Despite her best efforts her voice cracked.

Administrator Collins looked at her with a quizzical expression. When Tracie refused to look her in the eye Administrator Collins became a little concerned. There were rumors about what happened to some children who had been ‘honored’ by a visit by a Production Engineer. Concern quickly became alarm when she saw the Great Clustering Production Engineer’s lower lip tremble with barely suppressed emotion.

Feelings raged inside Tracie, since she knew that each and every one of these children was going to become a genejack, and inside she wanted to cry. She tried desperately to think about Duty and the Greater Good and failed miserably.

What these children deserved was love and a hug, not a lobotomy.

[Googlie]

Their training was finished.

Special Ops Commander Pauline Sy issued her orders.

“We’ll create troikas, and set up one in each of the captured or turned bases. Each troika will comprise an empath, a trained assassin and a juvenile runner.

“Kurt – you’re bonding well with Angel – you and she will form a troika with Angelica as your runner. Morgan Paradise, formerly our base of Paradise Swarming, will be your assignment. You will be inserted just before dawn tomorrow. Angel knows your contact. Good luck.”

Kurt looked over at Angel who scowled at him.

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

The small submersible inched under the roadway bridge spanning the end of the estuary that swept up almost to the borehole between Paradise Swarming (now renamed Morgan Paradise – ‘Yeah, right,’ Kurt thought – and Manufacturing Warrens, not yet renamed by the conquering Spartans.

The pilot peered through the scope at the bunker and the sensor array looming over them, then glanced at his watch..

“All clear,” he hissed. “Go.”

Kurt jacknifed out of the hatch, closely followed by Angelica then Angel, each towing their supplies pack. Kurt surfaced, senses flaring, ready to engage in thought control at the slightest sign of danger. But the pilot had been right. There was no activity.

They padded ashore and stood under the bridgeway. Standing dripping off their wetsuits, they took stock.

The sensor array by the bunker had been troublesome. But it was well within the range of the sensors still controlled by the Hive at Deep Passages which had undertaken the jamming that had allowed them to be inserted undetected.

They were well outside the base perimeter defense, but right beside the sluice gate of the purified sewer outflow, as planned, which ran just under the road from Paradise to Swarming..

Kurt got to work, and within minutes the gate was open. They slipped in, and Kurt crudely fastened the gate shut, but easily disengaged if they needed a fast getaway. They waded up the overflow towards the base for about four hours.

They met the security filter just under the perimeter defense net. Banking on the Spartans not yet changing the security code for the sewer outlet filter, Kurt keyed in the combination and as expected the electronic lock disengaged. They padded through. Kurt reset the lock.

They stood waist deep in the water’s flow and Kurt played the pencil torch on the map he held. Pointing with his finger, he indicated the recycling tanks overflow outlet.

“That’s our entry point to the base,” he said. “Angelica, you’ll need to wriggle up through the outlet pipe and then open the overflow valves for a moment – we’ll come in that way.”

It was a tight fit, but Angelica made it, and for a few seconds the overflow alert activated as Angel and Kurt climbed through. Kurt shut the valves down quickly, then they exited the Building.

They made their way to their contact, and as Kurt again readied his senses for action Angel tapped on the door panel.

A nervous citizen appeared at the door. Recognizing the Ashaandi handshake, she let them in.

“I received the coded message, and I can accommodate you as my husband is on permanent shift at the borehole. But you will have to share the room and the cot – as you know our living quarters while sufficient for our needs with no regards for guests.”

Kurt looked over at Angel and Angelica.

“That’s OK by us, Citizen Domai” he said.

They were shown the room and went in to plan their action.


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited December 05, 1999).]

[Googlie]

Today was going to be the big meeting, and Shauna was nervous. She’d been in The Leader’s Horde for almost a week now, and hadn’t been out of sight of Ashaandi’s operatives. Kyella had been assigned to her, and although she was good company, Shauna always felt awkward around her as she knew that she really was her jailer.

She had been briefed very little about Ron’s doings, and had been assured that he knew just as little about her – the intent was to give them plenty to talk about during their imposed exile.

They had a real job to do as well. Oh, the Hive masters knew better than to ask Ron to betray his principles, but they had talked about what the pair of them would do during the ten years or so when they would have custody of the infant before the state exercised its rights.

They were going to write and holovid a history of Planet, and of the Hive’s role in the making of that history.

Kyella had found them a small living unit in the building Shauna had occupied before – one of the old Believer edifices with above ground habitation, and a view from the window of the bustling harbour below.

Then she had set up the meeting.

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

“Shauna, this is your father, Ron.

“Ron, this is Shauna, your daughter.”

With that, Kyella left them and went to the small kitchen to make some tea.

Shauna looked at Ron.

She saw a middle aged man with a kindly, lived in face. Hair graying slightly and tending to premature baldness. Either he couldn’t afford the follicle treatment or he eschewed it. He was a tall man, and stooped slightly as he stood to acknowledge his daughter. He had a spare frame, yet muscular in his upper torso, bespeaking a life of labour.

But she was captivated with his eyes. They were dark and brooding, soulful, almost, as if privy to the secrets of the world and finding them too heavy to contemplate. Yet momentarily suffused with a sparkling clarity that caused his face to crinkle as if in merriment, as they did when she was introduced. Then she saw his mist over slightly, perceptibly, as the emotion of the moment registered on him.

Ron stepped forward, and looked at Shauna, the daughter he had walked out on – or been banished from – these many years ago.

He saw an assured young woman, defiant almost, with short cropped auburn hair. For a fleeting moment his memory dredged the image of the six year-old girl, flowing hair, running to the door and hugging his knee ”Don’t leave Daddy, please don’t leave” and sobbing unconrollably as he hardened his heart and disengaged her small hands and walked through the door without a backward glance.

As he appraised her, she was not noticeably pregnant. Tall and athletic, she was…..simply beautiful. Enhanced by pending motherhood, too, he thought. Her eyes were what drew him in as well.

The bluest he had ever seen.

As they locked on to him, he felt himself being drawn as if into a whirlpool, and realized that she was beginning the attempt of a deep neural scan.

Block, or Open?

He made his decision. They would have years to exercise the art of verbal communication, and after trust had been established, could probe.

He erected his defenses.

Shauna started, as she realized that she was up against an impenetrable barrier, then remembered Sand’s coaching and his words to her:

“He has a gift. We believe an unique gift – that we call psi-immunity. If your child had your projecting and empath powers, Shauna, and your father’s psi-immunity, her power will be unsurpassed. Shauna, you may be carrying in your womb the future leader not only of the Hive but of Chiron itself.”

She retracted her empath neural probe.

They looked at each other, awkwardly, so much past history to overcome.

The silence had to be broken somehow.

Ron coughed.

Shauna looked up expectantly.

“So…so…what will you call your child?” he asked

She looked at him defiantly.

“Ruth,” she said, “after my Mother.”

“Ah, Ruth. Yes. Of course. A beautiful name,” Ron said, blinking back the tears as the memories coursed though him.

Then the dam broke.

“Shauna,” he said. “I loved her. It broke my heart to be exiled from her and from you.” He sobbed.

“Come into my mind if you don’t believe me and see for yourself – I’ll drop the defenses.”

“No need,” she replied. “I can tell you’re genuine.”

She went up to him and hugged him.

“The main thing is we’re back together,” she said. “Daddy.”

And sobbed with him.

[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited December 01, 1999).]

[Slats]

AVISHNU TESTING STATION
PEACEKEEPER AIRSPACE

The deep thrumming beat of the helicopter’s rotors had nearly lulled Sergeant Atkinson off to sleep when the co-pilot’s shout from the cockpit warned they were entering the pickup zone.

Atkinson checked his assault rifle for the umpteenth time, a sleek impact/shredder combo with an extended ammunition pack. The other five men of his squad did the same with their various weapons. A lurch in the helicopter’s flight signified their change of course from their nap of the earth terrain following course beneath Peacekeeper radar. A large perimeter fence flashed beneath the craft just as the familiar sound of automated shredder cannon fire pattered against the fuselage. The ‘copter jerked as it turned and accelerated to avoid the rounds. From his perch beside the open side door Atkinson could see the source of the firing, a PK defence bunker.

A telltale motor whirr from the nose of the helicopter heralded the turning of the mounted chaos turret, guided by IR and optical sensors. A short whine and a fizz accompanied by a bright flash detailed the discharge of a chaos pulse. The firing from the bunker’s direction stopped abruptly.

The co-pilot gave another shout and the ‘copter dropped elevator-like towards a heli-pad near the entrance to a large building. Two uniformed soldiers could be seen standing atop the building, they looked up, surprised at the descending machine. Even as they shouldered their rifles, accurate impact rounds from Atkinson’s airborne squad punched into them, slamming their limp bodies onto the rooftop.

As the Spartan helicopter touched down onto the hard plascrete landing pad beside an official looking PK helicopter, two crew men emerged from the PK machine and were promptly flash heated by ruby red pulses from the Spartan door gunner’s heavy support laser.

Atkinson had his mind on other issues though, a young woman was dragging a what looked like a body out of the entrance of the nearby building. The sergeant waved for two of his men to follow and dashed towards the struggling couple. When they reached the pair, while one of his men held the woman, Atkinson checked the ID of the body. Confirmed, this was it. Atkinson was just about to wave his men back to the chopper when movement caught the corner of his eye. Atkinson and his men froze.

A PK trooper stood framed in the entryway of the building, halfway through pulling a laser pistol from his side holster. A single shot rang out. The back of the attacker’s head blew out blew out thanks to the squad’s marksman, still positioned in the helicopters hatchway, scoped impact rifle held to his shoulder.

Snapping out of his stupor, Atkinson half dragged, half ran with the body and woman helped by one of his team. He threw the woman bodily into the SAC aircraft and while the body was pulled aboard, lobbed a couple of long fused high explosive grenades into the now empty PK aircraft.

Team retrieved, the Spartan chopper rose ponderously from the ground and up into the night. Just as the sound of rotors faded, the grenades in the Peacekeeper helicopter detonated, the expanding fiery gas cloud showering the area with debris.

[Slats]

RUBY RIDGE MEMORIAL
AIRFIELD

Alex ‘Dusty’ Rhodes stood leaning against the wing of his penetrator, bottle of synth-ale in hand, gazing out over the dusky double sunset. Dusty’s brightly coloured T-shirt and long shorts leaving no doubt that he was off duty.

The Spartan detachment at RRM had been flying constantly as of late against Hive air incursions into Spartan and Morgan airspace. Now though, the probes seemed to be petering off as Spartan forces pushed deeper into the Hive homeland. Still, even this rest would be cut short as his men and women prepared for the coming assault.

Dusty yawned, stretched and checked his watch. Two minutes to go. All seemed quiet out on the field. A cargo needlejet was preparing for takeoff at the civil aviation terminal, attendant fuel pallet loader alongside. It seemed a perfectly peaceful scene. Dusty almost felt completely relaxed…

The noise started as a barely audible hum, which quickly exploded into a beating thunder as two camouflaged helicopter gunships vaulted over the hangar behind. Dusty turned sharply towards the new arrivals but then leaned back and grinned, raising his bottle in salute of a good approach. He could see the ‘copter pilots and gunners grinning in silent mirth behind the armored plexiglass of the boxy cockpits.

Dusty braced himself against his aircraft to prevent being swept away by the furious downdraft of the rotors as the two deadly shark-like craft slowed to a hover and descended to the ground.

For once Dusty would have to congratulate the 1st Wing pilots for being ahead of time. He was sure they’d love that…

[Hydro]

Deep Passage

Three figures stood in front of an old fashioned 3-D holo showing the terrain between Deep Passage and The Hive and the Spartan-occupied Manufacturing Warrens. South of Deep Passage was the sea, to the northeast was The Hive, and uncomfortably close to the north was Manufacturing Warrens. Arrayed over the map were a number of info tags that could be queried for more information either by touch or eye cursor.

Currently, the three figures were accessing information about Manufacturing Warrens. Since Hive operatives had long ago infiltrated the Spartan datanets and due to willing informants in Manufacturing Warrens, the three leaders of Deep Passage had a great deal of information.

And all of it was military. Further, it was very depressing.

The City Citizen Leader nodded to call up Spartan military forces and a series of icons showed up: 2 elite assault infantry, 1 elite chaos rover, five attack rover brigades, and a recently formed anti aircraft defense garrison. In addition to the ground forces there were four bombers and one interceptor squadron. There were reports of Spartan intelligence operatives that were ‘interrogating’ honest and innocent Hive citizens and they were reported to be using the most ghastly methods for information extraction. Three prominent scientists had disappeared for interrogation and had not been heard from since.

The City Citizen Leader’s aged eyes widened when she saw subshading on the interceptor icon and she activated it by eye cursor. A detailed report sprang up.

Gloom descended on the trio. The interceptor was outfitted with nerve gas pods.

A pale light glinted off City Citizen Leader Ramerez’s greying hair, which was cropped short and unadorned, as she turned to her oldest advisor Production Minister Chen.

“Has the antiaircraft garrison been finished yet?” she asked.

“Yes. Our current disposition of forces includes the anti aircraft brigade, a plasma brigade, and a chaos interceptor. All have been upgraded with the fusion reactor to increase their defensive and offensive ability.”

Ramerez nodded somberly. She knew that suggesting that their forces had any offensive capability was semantics at best. The cold, cruel facts were that the Spartans could take their city at will.

A grim resolve hardened her features.

“We know our duty to The Hive and Chairman Yang. We must delay the Spartans. Our sacrifice may save The Chairman, our capital The Hive, and our fellow Hive citizens from the spreading oppression and decadence of the Spartans.

We must do everything in our power strengthen our capital, even if it weakens our position.”

Ramerez turned to her recently appointed War Minister Adjunct.

“War Minister, send our interceptor to destroy the road that lies between The Hive and us and Manufacturing Warrens. This will slow down the Spartan advance, allowing us to counterattack and destroy their forces as they bog down in forests and fields. The interceptor is then ordered to add its strength to our comrades at The Hive.

We have already destroyed the road to our city. Our garrisons are to hold fast and make the Spartans pay for every meter of land they attempt to take. “

Although at his post only two months, War Minister Adjunct Smithe’s respect for Ramerez had grown with each passing day. Word back at The Hive was that Ramerez was simply an old party hack who had received her appointment in a backwater city of small importance. In reality her stance and actions were those of a fighter and believer in the principles of The Hive, even at the sacrifice her own life and those of her charges.

She truly believed that such a sacrifice was noble and for the common good of the Hive, which it was.

Smithe bows deeply to Rameres, who nods her head in acknowledgment.

“Honored City Manager, it shall be done,” he intones.

Then the three turn back to the old holo display, each trying desperately to find some way to stop the Spartan advance.

The holo board provided no answers.

*****

‘Honored City Manager, we just received word from air control at the aerospace center at The Hive that there are incoming aircraft. They just flew over the sensor north of us and will be here within minutes. We also have heard reports that the bunker between Warrens and us had been occupied and that there are additional infantry and troops on the way,” the Adjunct War Minister tells Ramerez after he receives a data squirt.

“So, it has begun. I will send out an emergency message to our citizens warning them to institute our Full Resistance Plan. All Spartans that attempt to enter our city must be punished and harassed! They will…”

The lights flickered as chaos weapons unleashed their destructive power, ignoring the fastness of the natural Hive perimeter defensive. Concussive booms echoed throughout the meeting room, with sympathetic explosions following almost as an echo. Great sections of wall erupted into rocky debris, which showered into the room.

Then the lights failed completely, plunging Deep Passage into darkness.

*****

“Aardvark 2 to wing, no evidence of significant resistance. Intelligence indicates a single antiaircraft brigade and plasma brigade, with no aerospace center to coordinate their air defense. The interceptor we expected high tailed it to The Hive. No other aircraft present. Set weapons to narrow focus and deep penetration. Wing Leader out.”

Spartan pilot Nans Andersen closed off his comm. Attacking an almost defenseless city was not his idea of good sport, but then bomber pilots couldn’t be good sports. He knew his job was to destroy the enemy. It just so happened that his enemy almost always existed in cities. Still, it didn’t take much to push aside such doubts. All he had to do was remember the death of his best friend Maria, who had been the hero in the Hive attack on Assassin’s Redoubt, and the Hive horrors at Plex Anthill. The Hive stood for the degradation of human kind, and Nans firmly believed that Yang and The Hive would gladly stomp on the face of humanity forever if they got the chance.

It had to be eliminated, even if there were casualties.

“Approaching target. Attack in delta V formation. Stay tight.”

Nans put his chaos fusion Aardvark into a bombing run.

Soon the whine of the chaos capacitors filled the cabin, as did the blue glow as the capacitors reached full charge.

*****

Around the city of Deep Passage it seemed almost serene, with the vast tracts of farms and the great thermal borehole sitting placidly within eyeshot.

The city itself was another matter. The landscape was shattered and a half dozen thick pillars of smoke rose upward from the remains of Deep Passage. The chaos weapons had burrowed great rents, as if great spears had been thrust into the ground.

Riding through the maelstrom of devastation was a single Spartan rover brigade. The ten rovers in the brigade took up defensive positions and entered the city.

Within an hour they electronically raised the Spartan flag over Deep Passage.

[Hydro]

Morgan Bank

“Good morning liberated citizens. You are now free of the tyranny of Morgan and his decadent society, and have been given the opportunity to be part of the purity of The Human Hive. Each of you will become one with the greater good and will come to know and love the wisdom of Chairman Yang’s and his Guiding Principles.

As part of the Human Hive you will all be given a subcutaneous identity chip, which will be used to assess your well being, understanding, and adherence to our Guiding Principles.

You are now required to queue. Immediately.”

With that, Hive Military Governor Donald McKain of Morgan Bank stepped down from the stage and his Hive solders surged into the reluctant crowd that was huddled in the Sean Connery Recreation Center. The sallow figures, many still sick from the after effects of the Hive nerve gas attack, complied and formed the queue. As they had been taught, the nervous citizens cast down their eyes the solders in Hive blue approached. They had seen first hand what the punishment was for the least act of defiance in Yang’s police state. The strongest among the survivors had had to remove the executed and clean up the blood.

In the center of one of the queues a tall ebony-skinned man in a now soiled suit was supporting a slight woman who could barely stand. She was breathing heavily and her eyes darted around the room in aimless fright. Although the hall held almost a thousand souls, the vast room was quiet and those within 20 meters could clearly hear her rasping gasps. Many glanced at her with growing concern since they didn’t want any attention. It was best if all contact with the Hive solders was eliminated since they could be unpredictable and arbitrary in their punishment.

Finally the queue made progress and Nwabudike Morgan Junior and his charge came to the front of the line. Sitting at a makeshift desk was an older woman.

“Next,” she said perfunctorily.

Junior and Stephanie Shin stepped forward.

The technician briefly looked up with an intensely bored expression.

“Name,” she asked as she looked down again.

“Mr. Steve H. Gershwin,” Morgan Junior automatically replied. He had many aliases, all of which were authenticated in the city databanks. These aliases were one of the benefits of his many operations he had undertaken in years past, both for business and pleasure. The chances that the Hive had done a retinal crosscheck of all the entries were slight.

Or so he hoped.

“Submit to a retinal scan,” she ordered.

Morgan Junior stood still as a Hive solder grabbed the back of his head and placed an optireader over his head to scan his retinal patterns.

On the woman’s desk a light blinked green.

“Give me your right hand,” she ordered.

Obediently Junior presented his hand. The woman took a hypo-sized instrument from the table, inserted it into her optireader terminal, and pressed it to Junior’s wrist.

There was a soft hiss as the hypo injected a microscopic identity chip into the many bones of his wrist. The only way to remove them now was microelement surgery, or removal of the hand.

“Congratulations, Comrade Gershwin. You are now a valued member of the Hive. Step aside and report to the next table so you can be assigned to a detail,” the technician ordered with absolutely no emotion.

“Next,” she repeated.

Junior helped the almost catatonic Stephanie Shin to the table.

“Name,” she ordered.

Silence.

“Name,” she repeated as she looked up. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the glazed look and barely muted terror in Stephanie’s eyes.

“This one is a medical,” the technician stated.

Before she could continue Junior interrupted. He knew that ‘medical’ was a euphemism for reeducation and indoctrination through the use of chemicals and selective surgery. In short, she would be reprogrammed by the Hive into whatever they wanted.

“She is in my care. Her name is Doctor Stephanie Shin. She works, or worked, at the Morgan Bank Research Hospital. I’m sure she will be fine...”

“Silence, Comrade. She is a medical. The Hive will see to her reconstitution as a productive citizen. Step to the next table. Now,” the technician ordered. She was looking directly in his eyes as if daring him to utter another sound.

Two solders appeared at his side and ushered Stephanie away. She glanced back at Junior with growing terror. The small bit of sanity and stability in her life was now gone. She tried to turn, but the viselike grip of the Hive solders held her firm.

She started to scream.

One of the solders automatically clamped a neural dampener to the back of her head and she fell limp.

Junior looked on with glittering rage as he approached the second table for his work assignment.

Surreptitiously he glanced at his new associates who were in line ahead and in back of him. They all very briefly made eye contact. Junior felt very lucky to have met the Assistant City Engineer and his cadre, a now very undercover policeman since all other Morgan police had been rounded up and presumably executed, and three men and women that had retired from the military.

All had the same grim expressions. Morgan Bank had experienced the horrific death of almost half of its population. Among the survivors many had been gravely ill, psychologically damaged, executed, ‘detained’, disappeared, or sent to reeducation camps. Stephanie had only been the last straw.

Tonight Morgan Bank would descend into hell.

[Googlie]

Lal emerged blinking into the late afternoon’s sunlight.

They had heard the commotion from above, and Mushtaq had gone to investigate – he had been on the point of explaining his hypothesis to Lal and Chandra, but had gone to the surface to find out what was happening.

Then Lal had heard the explosions, even in the depths of the command bunker.

“Let’s get to the surface and see what’s happening,’ he said to Chandra, his aide.

“Careful, Sir,” Chandra replied. There’s no knowing what Cartier and his people get up to, so don’t stick your head out without looking first. You’re liable to get your hat shot off that way.”

They had gone to the surface, and from the bunker entranceway saw the Spartan chopper lift off and head to the Northwest.

Lal looked around.

Bodies everywhere – and right at the bunker entrance the remains of Mushtaq.

And his ‘copter was a wreck.

The bodies of his three crew were on the ground beside the machine.

And the small garrison guard, elites all, dead.

Chandra took his arm.

“Commissioner. Let’s go over to the mess room and ask Jacques what happened.”

They walked the two hundred meters to the mess hut, and went inside.

Lal drew back in horror.

The stench of death was suffusing, palpable, hanging in the air.

His entire probe headquarters staff, eliminated.

A Spartan assassination squad. Perhaps aimed at him personally.

Chandra’s eye spotted a flickering in a corner, a slight disturbance, as if there was a reflection from a mirror. He went over. As he approached, he saw it briefly, then it disappeared, then reappeared. he bent down, and his hand closed over some cloth. Examining it, he was struck by its appearance – or rather its non-appearance from time to time.

When he draped it over his arm, and looked down, he saw nothing – his arm cut off at the elbow, shimmering into nothingness, and he saw the floor and the furniture through where his arm should be.

“They finally did it,” he muttered to himself.

“Did what?” Lal asked, his hearing being a lot sharper than his ministers and aides gave him credit for.

“They’ve developed cloaking – the ability to create a material that renders the wearer invisible. I’ve heard our scientists discussing it theoretically, but the Spartans have gone and done it, by the look of it – at least on an individual scale. I’ll take this back with me.”

“Hmmmph,” snorted Lal. “If we ever do get back. I wouldn’t mind betting there’s a penetrator or two on its way here now to bomb the place to rubble. We need to get out.”

Chandra nodded. He pulled his commlink from his pouch and punched in a series of numbers.

The Base Administrator of the UN Headquarters Aerospace Center replied.

“Get a chopper to Avishnu as soon as possible,” Chandra snapped. “We have a situation here, and the Commissioner’s safety may be jeopardized.”

“Give me that,” Lal said. Chandra handed him the commlink.

“Lal here. Assemble the cabinet to meet me in the Command Center on my return – you can do the math when you get the chopper airborne. And Patel, don’t spread panic, but move the entire military on to full alert. All bases. All units. And tell the Defense Minister to be fully briefed for our meeting. Lal out.”

He snapped the commlink shut with a terrible finality.

[Googlie]

Morgan Paradise

They met in the rec commons, about 1000 people crowded into the gymnasium.

They had guards posted outside, but since the takeover by the Morgan forces after the drone riots they weren’t really necessary. But they were posted anyway.

Two complete shifts from the borehole were there too, ferried north on the new Morgan Minerals Corp. buses. They were anxious to hear their colleague speak.

Kurt was in the crowd, standing at the back of the room, senses flaring, alert for the slightest sign of dissent or trouble. Angelica was with him, ready for any task that might be entrusted to her. Angel was across the room, by the door, and Kurt knew that she was armed to the hilt with every unobtrusive weapon that could be concealed on her person. Kurt relied more on his mind.

The room was abuzz with conversation and anticipation. Many had an inkling of why they were meeting, and wanted to be there just in case history was about to be made.

Many had attended a similar meeting a few weeks before when, egged on by the Morgan agents, they had risen up in rebellion to strike for freedom, and now found themselves serving a new master – not the State, familiar and comfortable despite its regimentation and tyranny squads – but Morgan Minerals Corp. which treated them as slaves to be exploited much as the State had done previously.

Then the buzz ceased, and people looked up expectantly.

A squat figure walked up to the temporary podium at one end of the room, and took a stolid stance behind it, with both hands gripping the lectern tightly.

“Good evening, friends,” he began. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Foreman Domai.”

[Hydro]

Great Clustering

The vast room resounded with the low hums of servos, hushed conveyor belts and overhead tracking, and the muted impacts so common in manufacturing. Much of technology was now so miniaturized that processing and assembly were beyond the abilities of human hands. However, some tasks were still large and complicated enough that trained and human hands were still needed. These hands must be accurate and precise every time.

These were the tasks of the genejacks, whose reflexes and perceptions are artificially enhanced and higher cognitive abilities atrophied.

Through this cavernous hall paced Assistant Production Engineer Marian Wilks.

Row upon row of individuals huddled in cubes or manipulator banks. A few worked in teams, but most worked at isolated tasks.

Marian approached an old individual. It was hard for her to assess the genejack's chronological age since all hair had been removed at the follicle. Even the genejack's gender was not obvious, but based on its stature it might have been female at one time. A loose, grey one-piece smock covered her body, although it wasn't so loose that it interfered with movement or caused a safety hazard. In the Hive it was inefficient to needlessly damage the equipment.

Moving to the side of the genejack's station, Marian could see the toll many years of labor had exacted on her body. There were large sections of her right arm that looked seared and were covered by scar tissue. No effort had been made in reconstruction beyond ensuring functionality. Several fingers were shortened and blunted at the end. Marian shuddered, thinking of how and why that had happened. Even her skin was sallow with a grayish pallor, so much so that she almost blended with her grey garments and utilitarian workstation.

But most distressing was the woman's forehead, which looked puckered in about 10 centimeters above the long removed eyebrows. It was standard in the genejack conversion procedure to partially mould or collapse the skull inward into the now vacant place where the frontal lobe had been. This served as a medical convenience, and irreparably marked the individual as a subhuman genejack.

Visions flitted through Marian's mind's eye. The old woman, sitting without a word or complaint at her station and working tirelessly at her obscure task, had the years drop away. The lines on her face smoothed and her skin took on a healthy pinkish hue, and her slight stoop straightened. Her breathing became less labored and pained. Then she started to become slighter of frame, losing the fullness of adulthood.

To Marian's growing horror she saw the female genejack's start to shrink, and then her forehead unpuckered. Beautiful dark brown hair appeared and fell to her slight shoulders. In Marian's mind the now-child turned toward her and her face sparkled with intelligence and exuberant life. Her liquid brown eyes looked at her beseechingly, and her eyebrows rose.

A single tear rolled down her face. Her lips moved soundlessly, and innocently asked the question "Why?"

*****

There was a loud clang, and Marian started. She looked in panic back toward the genejack, but she was once again old and partially crippled.

Marian felt the cold hand of fear and helplessness.

The selection of which genejacks would be liquidated at added to the recycling tanks was to start today, and she knew she was charged with the wrenching task. She had to decide who would be put down and who would live a little longer in the service of the Hive.

More horrible was that every genejack that was liquidated would have to be replaced by one of those innocent, beautiful children from the crèche.

And she would have to choose those, too.

[Googlie]

Domai began to speak:

“Friends, many of you know me. I am not good at this sort of think, but I can’t stand idly by and watch all that we’ve worked for over the years get arbitrarily taken over by the rich Morgan capitalists.”

There were grumbles of assent from the audience, and one man at the back shouted:

“You tell ‘em Domai.”

He continued:

“It was bad enough under our old masters, and all of us rejoiced in the riots of a few weeks ago that overthrew the yoke of oppression we were laboring under, but I tell you, we have merely exchanged one form of oppression for another.

“Instead of big brother state agent looking over our shoulders and eavesdropping on everything we said, we now have our supervisors from Morgan Minerals Corporation. We check in and out, with electronic retinal scans, that determine how many hours and minutes we work, and our breaks are carefully regulated. I tell you, it’s demeaning. And our pay is taxed for so many things we neither need nor want. But still we are paying. And then there are those “involuntary contributions” we make to so many Company causes that we neither believe in nor benefit from.”

The crowd grew angrier, and more and more listeners were adding their voices:

“Right on.”

“I say we turf them out – we’ve done it once already”

“We could do better on our own.”

Domai continued:

“And so I say, we don’t need either of these sets of masters in our lives. And you’re absolutely right - we know how to run our mines and factories. We know how to keep order among ourselves without the Hive Police garrison with their heavy-handed ways or the Morgan policemen that come at such a high price. So I say, let’s take control of our own lives.”

The crowd was with him.

“You’ve said it, Domai.”

“We’re with you, what should we do?”

“What should we do, you ask? I’ll tell you what we can do. We can create our own workers’ paradise.

“I have this vision…this dream, of freeing the enslaved working classes from their oppressors. Of us banding together and creating our own self-governing base where we can together improve the lot of the common citizen. A base where we can, maintain a minimum standard of living whereby each one of us contributes to the best of our ability and each of us receives according to our needs.

“And we can hold our standard high for all on Planet to see, as a beacon to attract the downtrodden citizens of every faction – to provide a beacon of hope for drones everywhere to see that we can succeed in living our dream.

“And my colleagues and I have put together a plan whereby we can do just that. I’ll ask Supervisor Maxwell and young Irwin to join me.”

There was a shuffling as an older man and a youngster walked up to the head of the room.

Domai turned round and walked to a large screen at the end of the rec commons. Irwin flicked on the old fashioned flat 3D projector. A map of the base and its environs came up.

Maxwell pulled out a laser pointer. Turned to the crowd, and began:

“First, the control points. We have positioned forces at the main base structures, and at the stroke of midnight, we will raise our standard. All of you here work at the factories and the base facilities. At the conclusion of this meeting, I’m going to ask you to go to your workplace and change the electronic locks. Young Irwin here has manufactured an electronic jammer and replacement lock that will keep our Morgan bosses from their offices.”

“What about the troops?” asked one of the crowd.

Domai stepped forward.

“I don’t think that they will be a problem,” he said.

“Firstly, I’m pretty sure that they won’t open fire on us. They are few and we are many. But just in case, we have the help of one of the Hive’s finest special operatives. Yang has sent him and his team here to try and incite us to stir up trouble against the Morgan Free Marketers, but these past few days he and his team have been guests in my apartment and he now shares our dream.

“Kurt, stand up and be recognized.”

Kurt rose to his feet and nodded to the crowd.

“What can one man do?” asked one of the drones

“Yeah – what good’s one man – we need soldiers on our side,” said another.

“Oh, I think he can handle them, can’t you, Kurt?” asked Domai, nodding to Kurt.

Kurt’s eyes swept the room. He closed his eyes. The crowd had silenced and was watching him.

Suddenly the door burst open, and a squad of heavily armed and armored black uniformed storm troopers barged in, and took up positions scanning the room, their chaos weaponry leveled and ready. Simultaneously the rec commons skylights shattered and two dozen more dropped their fall lines and rappelled to the floor with their weapons drawn. The crowd was surrounded, cowering amidst the exhibition of strength.

“The buzz of conversation commenced:

“Worm’s breath, they’re ours?” ….. “Holy Zak, they’re impressive – and invincible.”

They looked at Kurt with a new respect. Hell, if he was in command of forces like that – if that’s what was meant by “special operations” then they were going to be all right.

Kurt still had his eyes closed. Then he opened them.

The crowd gasped as one.

They were alone. There were no storm troopers. The door and skylight were intact.

They looked at each other in consternation.

“But…but…I saw…we saw…the shattered glass…the guns…”

Domai held up his hand.

“So you see. my friends, there will be no fighting. The Morgan troops will know when they are beaten by a superior force.”

One of the drones spoke up:

“But they have a known empath here. Potros. Extremely powerful. Will he not be able to counter your…magic?”

Kurt spoke for the first time.

“Ah, Potros. No, he is tied up right now. My colleagues are …….entertaining him.”

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

“Me, me – I want to try the gloves.”

Angel looked at her sister. Eventually she would have to learn. Might as well be now.

She peeled off the diamond shard studded gloves and handed them to Angelica.

Potros looked mutely up at them.

He was not a compellor, but a diviner, so he was powerless to mind control either. But he felt an affinity with the teenager – she was a reader too.

He was tied to the bed, and Angel was toying with him, explaining to Angelica as she went what she was doing and why.

“There is such a fine line between pain and pleasure,” she said, “so much so that when the subject is sufficiently aroused there is virtually no difference to his receptors. And of course, being an empath he knows just before exactly what we are going to do, so the pain and the pleasure are doubled.

“Now you try – you saw what I was doing.”

Angelica raked the glove across his chest, the diamond shards cutting deep into his flesh, drawing thin scars that seeped blood in the wake of the glove’s passing.

His back arched against the restraints as he muttered “You fungal witch – you can feel it too, can’t you?”

Angelica shuddered. Indeed she did feel the pain – she was in his mind, savoring the moment, living it with him.

She leant over, her hair brushing his chest, and slowly ran her tongue down the welts. The saltiness of her saliva mingled with the blood and sent a shiver down his spine that Angelica felt as if it were she herself being teased thusly.

She gasped, as he did, when behind her Angel brought her mouth down on him.

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

“We are with you. There is a similar movement afoot in my home base of Great Clustering, but we are not so well advanced. We have lost one of our rallying points with the silencing of Silvermane, but his words echo on in our hearts. But it won’t be long until we rise up and join you.”

With these words, Mr. Lee sat down, to the applause of the crowd.

Maxwell took to the floor.

“Now let’s move out and get to our positions. Midnight is approaching.”

The crowd dispersed and left for their assignments.

The takeover of the facilities went largely as planned. Irwin’s locks worked perfectly, and Kurt had no problem with the garrison.

They gathered outside the commons at midnight, where the Morgan standard was pulled down and their own design was substituted in its place.

Foreman Domai made the speech:

“And today I declare that henceforth we shall be known as the Free Drones and this base shall be called Free Drone Central.

“We will live in peace with all factions, and our agenda is non militaristic. We believe in the emancipation of the working class and today we have established the workers’ paradise of our dreams.

With that, Domai turned and walked into the administration offices of his new faction’s headquarters base.


[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited December 13, 1999).]

[Hydro]

Great Clustering

“Greetings, Citizen. I am here for the Efficiency Improvement Committee,” Assistant Production Engineer Marian Wilks said nervously.

Replacement Crèche Master Tracie Collins stood beside Marian. Quickly glancing in her direction, Marian noticed that Tracie had a determined look about her. Tracie didn’t return her stare and looked at the man who was admitting the Committee representatives and nodded. The older gentleman siting at a bare table gave Tracie a nod of acknowledgement and Marian a cautious glance. His eyes sparkled, belying his age. To Marian they seemed to see through to her very soul.

Until this very moment Marian had lingering doubts that she, or anyone, had a soul. After all, Yang’s People’s Utopia was officially an atheistic state. Now Marian was sure: everyone had a soul. Beautiful little children had a soul. Even the dreadfully mutilated genejacks had a soul.

A certainty and peace had replaced her raging tides of hopelessness and despair. She had to act to save the children, and even the sad genejacks. She couldn’t allow another generation of children to be lobotomized, their identities and potential erased ‘for the good of the State’. She couldn’t allow the genejacks to be slaughtered like so many cattle.

Admitting this to anyone was a grave risk since Yang’s informants permeated his police state. At the same time Marian knew she needed help. There was one person that Marian knew would help her: the Crèche Master Tracie Collins. Marian suspected she was a Believer. If she was wrong Marian knew she would pay dearly, probably with her life.

But it was a risk Marian decided she was willing to take. She could make a difference. Even if she saved one child she would gladly forfeit her life.

After several seconds that seemed like aeons, the old gentleman pretended to take their names as was required by protocol and waved them both in.

The ‘Efficiency Improvement Committee’ was about to start.

*****

Tracie walked in front of Marian as they passed through the assembled crowd of what had to be over a hundred people. Marian noticed that most people chatted in small clusters, suggesting they knew each other from way back. Everyone appeared properly dressed, wearing a block grey uniforms of either a one-piece jumper for laborers or two-piece for administrators and group leaders. On each shoulder was an insignia that indicated which sector they belonged to, further defined by the color shading of their warren and level affiliation.

There was a pair of unoccupied chairs in the front. Tracie selected one of these and indicated to Marian that she was to sit down.

“Stay right here, Marian. I have to get our issue on the roster, and to do this I have to inform the Committee Leader. I’ll be right back.”

With that Tracie made a b-line for a small group that was on a platform. Marian watched intently, or at least as much as she was able considering her disadvantaged vantagepoint and all the people in the way.

Through the throng of people Marian saw Tracie touch a tall and self-assured man on the shoulder. He turned to look at her and smiled. Tracie said something that Marian couldn’t hear and his easy smile immediately disappeared. He started questioning Marian and the rest of the small group quickly turned toward the conversation. After a few minutes Tracie nodded toward the man, then pointed toward Marian. The whole group looked her way.

Then the man nodded and put his hand reassuringly on Tracie’s shoulder. Tracie reciprocated by placing her hand on his.

Then she made her way back into the crowd toward Marian.

“We’re on the agenda, Marian. Sit tights and wait for Jonah,” she said in response to Marian’s questioning look.

Tracie sat down. Almost on cue the rest of the assembled Committee did also.

*****

The meeting seemed to go on forever to Marian. On the lectern was the man Tracie had introduced as Jonah and he had been speaking for a half-hour.

“And so we come to Yang’s thirteenth Guiding Principle, which touches on efficiency: ‘Maximum output is the paragon of industrial and post-industrial society, even into the information age. What is maximum output? It is the correct utilization of human and material resources that achieves the greatest end. Is this a tautology? Only to the unenlightened.’

We all have heard this phrase for many years as we try to understand the wisdom of Yang. But, it is best to hear it in his own illustrious words.”

With that Jonah cued a hologenerator, which started playing a truly ancient lecture given by Chairman Sheng-ji Yang himself. Yang did not give many public appearances or lectures. These recording were so rare that the few that did exist were known by heart by the citizens of the Hive.

Jonah stepped off the lectern. He had an urgency about him that was definitely not present during his languid presentation on the efficacy of Hive efficiency.

“We have about 20 minutes, and the holo generator has a white noise scrambler that will partially screen our conversations from prying ears. We have to act quickly. First, I must ask that we dispense with the dedication prayer and Bible readings today. I am sure the Lord will understand.

One of our flock, Crèche Master Tracie Collins, has brought to my attention that we are about to be deluged with yet another of Yang’s holocausts.”

Jonah paused dramatically. His group was used to a set pattern of prayer and recitation, and an opportunity to offer sympathy and concern to one another. Breaking the routine now had everyone on edge. Jonah had everyone’s undivided attention.

Especially at his mention of an upcoming holocaust. Believers under Yang were well aquatinted with those.

“Do most of you remember the horror of the Missing Generation? This occurred 20 years after the Devil Yang conquered the last of our Believer cities, which fell over 70 years ago. Now this is a dark tale we tell our children – how one day almost all the children of the city were taken and never heard from again. Only Believer children were taken. The city lamented for years, and our cries to the Lord went unanswered. Some said God was testing our faith. Others said it was the Devil testing us, like He tested Job in the Bible. But no one had the answer.

Now we have the answer, thanks to information from the Assistant Production Engineer Marian Wilks.” Jonah pointed toward Marian, who uncomfortably bore the gaze of all in the room.

“These children, some of whom were brothers and sisters of those sitting in this room, were taken by Yang. Their bodies were perverted and defiled, their memories taken.

They were turned into Genejacks.”

A few in the audience gasped. Others closed their eyes and offered a silent prayer. Jonah paused to let the news sink in. Most knew of the Genejack Factory, which turned out massive amounts of sensitive or dangerous material for the war effort.

All in the room thought it an abomination against God, and proof of Yang’s evil.

“Our brethren have been toiling under our noses for 50 years with their identities erased, and minds atrophied. They have been denied the simple right of being human. All they have left is God’s Grace and our love.

But, my friends, the horror continues. These poor souls are scheduled to be executed in a pogrom such as we Believers have never seen. Within days they will be slaughtered like cattle and discarded. Yang has destroyed their minds, now he has used up their bodies and throws them away like a broken tool.”

Angry murmurs rippled through the assembled congregation.

“Children of God, Yang has decreed that his broken and worn out tools must be replaced. His factories require more human fodder!” Jonah’s voice rose in pitch, evoking the revivalists of old.

“His new tools will be more innocents. More children will be sacrificed to the Devil Yang!

Believer children will be turned into Genejacks once again! Our children will become yet another Missing Generation!”

Jonah’s arms rose up and his congregation rose to their feet with them, as did their voices, which cried out in pain, anger, and despair.

Marian, too, leapt to her feet. In the depth of her soul, Marian knew this was right. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Joy and pain filled her heart simultaneously. Joy from the feeling of affirmation and correctness she felt, she knew, to be true. Pain from her wounded heart, which went out to the genejacks and the children. She didn’t understand everything about the Believer God, but she felt His presence in her soul.

Jonah’s hands went down and his voice quieted, maintaining its intensity through projection as opposed to volume. His voice came out now as almost a whisper into a quieted room.

“My flock, we haven’t much time. For years we have talked about taking action. Recently we contemplated action for the revered Silvermane, whose disappearance has left a void of hope that has not yet been filled. But we failed to act, for he is, or was, but one person. Now we can not delay, for our children are at stake. We are fewer every year. This may be our last generation.

Our future, and the future of God on Planet, rests in the balance.”

Jonah looked around the room, seemingly looking directly in everyone’s eyes as his gaze swept the room.

“Today we have friends. We will work with Brother Domai, who I have told you about. He, too, struggles against unjust oppressors.

Here is what I want you to do,” he told his flock.

To Marian, Jonah seemed to have an inner glow about him, almost an aura.

She listened to his plan.

And she believed.

*****

“Wil, we have an anomaly in the rec center. Some of the surveillance cameras have gone out. Hey, what’s that noise? It’s past curfew. Was that an explosion?”

Wil was about to answer ‘yes’ when his security control board burst due to a massive power overload, which sent plastic and metal fragments arcing away. Several of the fragments found and transfixed Will and his partner.

Around their bodies the remaining working cameras and holo projectors of their security monitoring station showed chaos as people filled the hallways, factories, and common areas.

*****
“Oh, yes, I’ve always wanted you! Come here, you virile hunk of a man! Take me! Take me now!” Lady Deirdre Skye said as she ran through the forest toward Milton Lunks. He stared at her with lecherous eyes as she flung her gossamer clothing off, one piece at a time. Naked, she ran to him. By the time she reached him her breasts were heaving and dimpled with sweat.

Deirdre ran her fingers through Milton’s rich crown of black hair and then over his chiseled chest, almost purring. As she touched him Milton was consumed passion, and he saw that the lovely Deirdre was too.

Then she hungrily kissed him, and kissed him hard as they tumbled to the ground. He wrapped his arms around her subtle and firm form, almost groaning in anticipation.

Suddenly, there was a flash and a smell of ozone.

Deirdre and the forest had disappeared, and his chest was no longer chiseled and his grey hair more sparse than ample.

“Damn it!” Milton swore vehemently. “I saved up 2 months for the holo Lady Deirdre’s Lover! Now it’s fritzed!

Then he noticed the Holo Theatre was on fire and he forgot his fury as he fled for his life.

*****

“That’s right, I am the foreman. Follow me. Your shift if over,” Assistant Production Engineer Marian Wilks said as she lead the compliant Genejacks from their stations. The production lines stopped and there were red claxons and warnings going off all over. In the corner the three line engineers were unconscious and trussed up.

Marian turned toward a young man who was helping her. He had an earnest expression, and was excited and more than a little scared.

“Greg, take these Believers to Delta Sector Sublevel 8. They should be safe there. Remember that they can obey orders and can care for themselves, but need explicit instructions. I’ll return within a half-hour. If I don’t return then take them to another location. I don’t want to know where,” Marian ordered.

She worried that if she failed that she would be forced to tell the location of the abducted Genejacks, and she honestly didn’t want to betray them in such an unpleasant circumstance. She could see that Greg didn’t quite understand, but he nodded once and followed orders.

Taking one last look at the retreating troop of several hundred Genejacks, she grimly turned back to her task.

She had a Genejack Factory to destroy.

*****

“That’s right children, playtime is over. We have to do an Evacuation Order. Remember the drill?” Tracie told one of her crèches. Their little heads bobbed in understanding. All Hive children are taught to respond in emergencies, if only to get out of the way and behave in an orderly fashion.

Tracie led her charges out of the crèche, as were her assistants in the 7 other crèches cells. Within 15 minutes they would be in a safe area, far from the pandemonium which was probably erupting right now all over Great Clustering.

*****

There was an electronic buzzer that went off, and Chairman Sheng-ji Yang looked up from his reports. He had instructed his staff in The Hive never to interrupt him without an appointment or a dire emergency.

The buzzer indicated that there was a dire emergency, and he activated it immediately.

A small holo of the upper half of a man showed up in miniature above Yang’s desk. It was the Duty Officer.

Yang’s mind cleared immediately of the minutia of the report he was reading. For such a junior officer to intrude it must truly be serious. If it weren’t than there would soon be a very dead junior officer.

“Honored Chairman, I have news,” the junior officer stated somewhat hesitantly.

“Yes,” Yang prompted.

“Sir, Paradise Swarming, renamed by Morgan as Morgan Paradise, has revolted against Morgan,” he stated.

A glacial and delicate smile graced Yang’s normally implacable face.

So, Yang through, another plan bears fruit.

“Excellent. Inform me when the traitors who formed a plot against The Human Hive have been rounded up. They are to receive a public trial for their crimes,” Yang said.

“Sir, Paradise Swarming declared for someone called Forman Domai,” he offered, paling. “He has renamed it Free Drone Central in his broadcast.”

Yang froze. He knew of this Domai. He had been a trusted upper level member of the Party until his disappearance when Paradise Swarming declared for Morgan. He was supposed to be dead. How dare he do this!!

Yang’s eyes narrowed slightly and his very small smile vanished.

“And, ah, sir. There is trouble in Great Clustering. There are huge riots there, and we last heard a frantic call from them 5 minutes ago. Then there was a broadcast. Great Clustering has declared for this Domai, too.”

Yang seethed. The now terrified junior officer just stood there, frozen.

Yang abruptly snapped off the holo.

Treachery!!

Again!!!

[Hydro]

Morgan Industries

"How can this be?" Morgan Senior asked to himself in disbelief. He read over the report one more time, just to be sure.

There was no mistake: Morgan Paradise, formerly Paradise Swarming, had revolted. And they had proclaimed themselves 'Free Drones' under the leadership of one Forman Domai.

Who in the hell is this Domai?! That was MY city! I paid for it! Morgan throught with growing anger.

Morgan activated his voice mike.

"Paul, get up here. I need some information. And some answers!"

*****

Twenty minutes later the Morgan head of security, Paul Milton Andreas, walked into Morgan Senior's office. The door recognized his DNA and retinal pattern and let him pass without a pause. It had been instructed to let a very few of Morgan's staff in unannounced, and he was one of them.

"Newbie, I take it you got the news," Paul asked unnecessarily. He could tell from long experience that Morgan was in 'one of those moods'. Paul knew that one of Morgan Senior's best talents was that he was a consummate actor, and was able to put on almost any persona at a moments need. His previous history going way back to Earth had taught him this well: he had been fabulously successful in his business ventures because of his ability to read people and situations and then act accordingly. This was his 'art of the deal,' which mainly consisted of convincing others that he had what they needed and then delivering. Paul privately believed that Morgan truly believed what he was saying at that moment, even if it was a blatant lie. Maybe that was why he was so believable, even to those who could prided themselves on knowing people or being able to 'read' people.

In private it was a different matter. With his facades down he let his true personality out. Sometimes his true personality was not pretty.

Morgan looked up at Paul. His eyes glittered.

"Why in the hell did Morgan Paradise revolt, Paul?" Morgan demanded. "We captured the city intact, and it had all the facilities needed to keep the peasants in line. It even had a holo theatre, for gods sake! And what happened to our two operative teams we had there?"

Paul had asked himself that very question and had spent the last hour finding out. He knew it would be the first question Morgan asked.

"Sir," Paul responded, slipping into a more formal line of responses to assume a subservient domineer, "we did have two operative teams there. However, just before the uprising they went missing. I can only presume they were eliminated, and I don't know how. As to the revolt, when we took over the base from the Hive it was on the borderline of revolt. We could no longer garrison it with police units like Yang did to keep the drones in check. All we could do is ply them with luxuries, like we do here on the mainland. Even then they were barely in check.

According to my sources, there was Hive operative activity just before and during the uprising. They then instigated drone riots, which pushed the city into revolt.

However, something went seriously wrong for the Hive. Instead of revolting for Yang, this Forman Domai took over."

Paul smiled at Morgan. "Can you imagine how furious Yang is? He had his city co-opted by you, then it revolts and rejects him and the Human Hive again! This Forman Domai was fairly senior in the Hive hierarchy before the revolt. To have him spit in Yang's eye must be a major blow his sense of honor."

With that Paul paused. He hoped that emphasizing the torment this was undoubtedly causing Yang would divert Morgan's wrath. Although Morgan was logical, he did have his blind spots. He didn't have a sense of 'honor' like Santiago or Yang, or a sense of 'fairness' like Lal or Skye, but he did have a sense 'value' and 'worth'. The loss of Morgan Paradise had decreased his assessment of his of net worth. Everything had to tally on the bottom line, and tally in his favor.

As soon as he said this he could see some of Morgan's wrath seep away. This was an intangible 'value' to add to the books in his struggle against Yang. In fact, it could divert some of Yang's strength from his weakening position on the Morgan mainland.

"I see your point. But who is this Domai? I don't recall a dossier on him."

"He was a senior mid level Hive official. There was no reason you would have been informed about him. Now that he has his own faction with two bases…" Paul continued.

"TWO bases?!" Morgan interrupted.

"Yes, two. Great Clustering revolted against Yang and declared for Forman Domai."

Morgan had the beginnings of a grin.

"Really?" he said rhetorically. "That is sure to cause Yang no end of vexation."

"Yes, Sir, it is," Paul responded, returning the smile.

"Well, that is news. So, this Domai grows at my expense and Yang's. So the question is 'why'? Why now, and why both a Morgan city and a Hive city? Although I have to admit I take a certain mirthless pleasure at Yang's displeasure, I will be sorely put out if more of my cities revolt to join this Domai."

"Interestingly, Forman Domai has released his Worker's Manifesto," Paul responded. "I won't bore you with the details. It goes on and on about worker's rights and the fight against oppression. The salient points from our point of view is that he sees the drones as having the ability of governing their own affairs without the encumbrance of an intellectual elite. They favor an industrial society, but not elitist research. They also seem to have the ability to keep workers contented, and an empathy for discontented workers around the globe, regardless of faction affiliation."

Morgan nodded. "Are they a further threat to us?"

"No, they aren't. Our Morgan citizens are the most contented on Planet. We spend huge amounts of energy for their benefit. Although we ask them to work hard, they get all the benefits of a society directed for the material gain of its citizens. The chance that any of our cities would revolt is remote in the extreme.

Moreover, we might be able to benefit from this, and benefit handsomely."

Paul made Morgan wait for a moment. He could tell his ears perked up.

"Foreman Domai's two bases are separated and Great Clustering is very vulnerable to Hive counterattack. His new capital, formerly Morgan Paradise and Paradise Swarming, are now way behind the Spartan lines and not seriously threatened by take over. He should be worried about a punative attack. Yang just might send a nerve gas shard penetrator to take out some of the disloyal population. He isn't beyond that. In short, he is very weak and exposed. He needs friends. Moreover, he took all of Yang's technology with him when he revolted."

Paul left unsaid what that meant. Based on Morgan's reaction, it was clear that Morgan needed no prompting.

"Well, that changes everything! If he needs an ally against Yang, then he shall have one. For a price, of course!" Morgan exclaimed.

[Hydro]

Free Drone Central

The celebrations had gone on far into the night. Fungal gin had flowed like water, as had other mood enhancing substances formally prohibited in the Human Hive and winked at by the Morgan Federation. In fact, some of the strongest of these were from Morgan Metagenics.

Forman Domai had, of course, participated in the festivities. Although honored that his fellow workers had chosen him to be their leader, he would under no circumstances wall himself off from his followers. Once he became separated from them spiritually, intellectually, and physically then he knew he would be no better than the authoritarian intellectual elite of The Human Hive or the decadent and uncaring consumer society of Morgan Industries.

Still, the Forman knew that preparations had to be made. Rising up against Morgan to free the workers was one thing, but there were threats all around. Any of the established factions were significantly larger than his, and almost infinitely stronger. The Spartans, who were advancing on the Hive inexorably immediately to the southwest, could take Free Drone Central with a casual swat. The Hive could send forces to assault Great Clustering with little effort, and could launch punitive attacks on Free Drone Central. Just the thoughts of a nerve gas attack made Forman Domai pale. Even the Gaians could attack with their mighty mindworm army in Gaia's Landing, although Domai considered this highly unlikely. The only faction that was not a threat, and that the Forman felt the closest kinship with, were the Peacekeepers. They believed in human rights for all, not just the elites.

After 8 hours of partying the Forman was tired. He retired to his office apartment, and was annoyed at his self-appointed honor guard. These stalwart young men and women had formed almost immediately and guarded his every movement. They even balked at his going to the victory party, but he firmly overrode their concerns, much to their dismay.

"Good night Miri, Jerma, Andy, and Tara. I'm going to retire for the night. Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it!" Domai stated as he looked his honor guard over.

Each beamed as he shook their hands one by one. Miri hesitantly reached out and touched his arm, and then drew it away when he looked at her.

"Ah, thank you Sir. You don't know what this means to us. I mean, we are doing something important. For everyone! All my friends are so jealous."

"Miri, I should thank you. Without your support this wouldn't have been possible. And don't call me 'Sir'. Call me Domai."

"Yes, Sir, ah, Domai! I will," she said seriously.

Domai could tell that the 'good night' could go on for a long time, so he simply nodded and entered his chamber.

Inside his room he still felt a sense of the euphoria of the last day, but knew he could sleep and sleep soundly. Being up for 28 hours could do that.

He started striping off his tunic and jumper and noticed that his priority message light was flashing. Domai had instructed communications to route messages of a routine nature to his Second. Only messages from a faction leader or from his Second would reach him. He had learned from hard experience that not having such a filter meant that all his time was spent wading through minutia.

'Such is the life, and responsibility, of a People's Leader,' Domai thought as he put his tunic back on.

When his was done he voice activated his comm system.

The three dimensional features of CEO Nwabudike Morgan appeared. Involuntarily, Forman Domai tensed. He had been expecting, and dreading, his call.

"Good day, Forman. I believe we have something to discuss," he said crisply. His features, to Domai's eyes, were unreadable.

"Hello CEO. Yes, I suppose we do."

"Let me say first that I am not pleased with the turn of events. My loss is your gain…" Morgan started.

Domai decided to cut in, "No, not my gain: the gain of the workers of Free Drone Central. They were mistreated under your administration. I gain nothing."

If Morgan was irritated at having been interrupted he didn't show it. "Very well then, let us just say 'my loss'. Even though I am the wounded party, I am potentially willing to set aside these differences and acknowledge your faction. That is what I have called to discuss with you."

Forman Domai was slightly taken aback. He had expected the capitalist Morgan to be furious at the loss of one of his cities. Instead his was seemingly noncommittal.

However, he saw an opportunity when he saw one.

"I'm listening," he prompted.

"Forman Domai, we have a common enemy with which we both have a grievance: Chairman Yang of the Hive. You have, no doubt, earned his enmity for the revolt of Great Clustering. As I know so well, such cities are very vulnerable to the likes of Yang and his merciless army and air force. I am willing to take common cause with you and your faction. However, I will require compensation for my loss. It is something that does not come close to compensating me for my loss, but will show your good will toward our common cause. I request shard technology. In return you will have my friendship and acknowledgement of your Faction on the world stage."

The Forman paused for a moment. What Morgan said was true. The Free Drones were vulnerable, and having friends at this point would be very valuable.

'But,' Domai thought, 'can I trust Morgan? He is second only to Yang in his exploitation of workers. Shard technology is surely valuable. And he did turn on Yang after many years of alliance.'

Still, it was an easy decision. He would have to risk it.

"CEO Morgan, I accept your terms. I only hope you will show more consideration toward your workers in the future."

"Then it is done. Morgan out."

Domai stared at the empty space where the holo of CEO Morgan had existed. He didn't think it would take much explaining to his people how he had entered a treaty of friendship with Morgan, who had been their oppressor. He had acknowledged to the Free Drones their rightful claim to the city, after all. And he had tacitly acknowledged the reason for the revolt.

It also gave Domai an idea. Yang's technology might be worth something to the other factions as well. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain. What he needed right now was a larger industrial base and energy.

"Computer, put me through to Dr. Pravin Lal."

[Hydro]

Free Drone Central

"So, it is agreed. I will give you the secrets to Fusion Power, Orbital Spaceflight, and Advanced Spaceflight. This will allow you to launch orbitals, use fusion power, and have shard technology. This should give you parity with the other factions. In return, you will give me the sea colony near Mount Planet, a land colony on Mount Planet, and 300 energy."

Pravin Lal positively beamed, and for a moment the years of stress and worry seemed to drop away.

"Agreed! This mission has been a disaster. Considering our like ideals, would you accept a treaty of friendship with the Peacekeepers?"

"Yes, I accept," Forman Domai responded immediately. He had expected a polite welcome, but nothing nearly as enthusiastic as this.

"Would you consider an alliance with the Peacekeepers, Forman Domai? We both believe in the rights of all humans and the UN Charter. Let us combine forces!"

"Agreed! Then I great you as a Pact Brother!"

Pravin Lal became serious and leaned forward. "Then you must also declare war on the Spartans, who have despoiled the Charter."

Domai was afraid of this. The last thing he wanted was a war with the Spartans, or anyone. And the Spartans were almost within eyeshot of Free Drone Central.

"I'm afraid can't since I haven't spoken with Coronal Santiago yet. So I must decline," Domai said.

"That is unfortunate. Still, my hats off to you! Feel free to call back. Anytime!"

"Thank you, Pravin. I hope to find in you a true friend of the people."

Domai terminated the holo and Pravin winked out.

Now he had one more friend on Planet. He hoped that the technology he had traded wouldn't be used for ill purpose. Still, it had advanced the cause of his workers.

Finally exhausted, he stripped off his tunic and jumper for a second time and made for bed. Tomorrow he would call Deirdre and Corazon. Last he would call Yang.

Now that would not be an enjoyable call.

[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited December 18, 1999).]
[This message has been edited by Hydro (edited December 18, 1999).]