The Spartan Chronicles - Continued

[Argonaut]

Sparta Command

"Mr. Bradford," began the judge with a stern look on her face. The trial had only lasted the better part of a day, brief for most legal cases. However, too many dangers faced Sparta to waste time on minor issues. The possibility that a Spartan citizen had been collaborating with the Hive was enough to warrant a proper, if brief, investigation.

"From the evidence presented here I see no signs that you have in any way tried to compromise Sparta's position in the war. However, we cannot permit our youths to run around the countryside, consorting with the enemy."

William stood stiffly at attention, his Youth Corps. uniform immaculate. He knew all eyes were on him and that the judge was going to be far more lenient than many of them would have been. The war has gone on so long, the thought of Hive citizens being real people seemed a distant memory to many.

"Because of your actions, I feel it poses a security threat to Sparta to allow you any where near enemy lines. Therefore I'm placing you on probation and restricting your movements to within the perimeter of Sparta Command." A grumble of approval came from some people in the stands, who came to view the trial. William resisted the urge to turn around, and maintained strict attention.

"However, due to your exemplary record with the Youth Corps, I have decided not to strip you of all responsibilities. You will maintain your rank of Youth Corps Lt. and take on a new assignment at the Aerospace Complex. You will be assigned to the care and maintenance of a fleet of needlejets, stationed there."

At this a grumble of disapproval from his condemners in the audience, but they were quickly silenced by a stern look from the judge.

"You will report to your commanding officer at the complex, at 06:00h tomorrow. Case dismissed." At this the judge rose regally, and made her exit to her antechamber at the back of the courtroom. William remained at attention as the people behind him began to filter out, and only moved when so escorted by the bailiff.

------------------------------------

Srgt. Jenson led William into a small, dilapidated hanger on the outskirts of the Sparta Command Aerospace Complex. The hanger looked as though it hadn't been used since the before the war with the Hive began. But sure enough, inside William could make out the shapes of six needlejets, although he couldn't see them clearly enough to identify them specifically.

"These are your charges." the Srgt announced, as he activated the lights from the command console just inside the hanger door. As the lights flickered too life, William stared in disbelief.

The six fighters looked as rundown as the hanger they were housed in. The weaponry appeared to be some sort of archaic laser weapon, and many of the planes weren't even entirely intact.

"You've got to be kidding me. These things look like they haven't been flown in years."

"They haven't. They probably should have been scrapped at some point, but with the war you never know. You might find yourself in a situation where you need any plane you can get." replied the clearly amused Srgt.

"But, you couldn't get these things off the ground if your life depended on it." replied William in disbelief.

"I don't have too. You do. The Captain wants these things flight ready by the end of the month." Srgt. Jenson allowed a smile to spread across his face as he said this.

"Your crew will be here in another hour so that you could get started. You'll have to get your supplies from me, and I can tell you now you won't be getting a lot. Best of luck to you." With this Srgt. Jenson turned on his heels and marched out of the hanger.

The judge hadn't been so lenient after all.

[edgecrusher]

closure, 1.0

The earth, for lack of a better term, was scorched here. Devoid of life. It was a few hours before dawn at the moment, and the constellations watched Tau Ceti with some amusement.

"wow. that never happened before," said one, who, to the original inhabitants of manifold five, was a god of healing. "such a pity, too... it was quite beatiful, when it was backlit by one of Q'varvek's nebulas."

Q'varvek blushed. She was once a goddess of innocence, and was quite good at it. Not adding to the conversation, she continued to blush.

On the planet, it was eluding to dawn. "oh well..." said a teacup. It was, in fact quite resentful that a great civilization would make gods into constellations, and then, had a few stars left over, thus 'teacup' was born. "just you wait... i'll be bigger and an badder than all you gods, one of these days." he reached to scratch an itch. Another hour later, a fair sized starcruiser emerged from a nebula, and headed towards the planet.

Daylight bloomed on the shattered planet, but the only one who was around to witness this was teacup. He had always hated dawn, and seeing that civilization that cursed him as it were. It gave him great satisfaction that they'd been utterly destroyed, it would sereve them for having a teacup amongst gods. However, as he veiwed the landscape, he bagan to sing a different tune. There would be no more civilizations on Tau Ceti. He began to whimper.

Q'varvek reached out and patted him on the handle and smiled at him. Perhaps being a teacup wasn't so bad after all.

------------------
i've had the poison leak into my skin
and it corroded my heart away

[Argonaut]

The Hive

The soldier marched into the office of the base commander. Simplistic in design and decor, the private office showed no sign of privilege or prestige. This was the way of the Hive.

"The survivors from the battle at Socialism Tunnel have begun to filter in. A team has also brought in a group of prisoners who are suspected of collaborating with the Rebel movement. What would you have me do with them?" asked the soldier.

"Free Drone Sympathisers? What is happening to our society?" The base commander was clearly troubled by the continuing expansion of the Free Drone Faction. It was in direct opposition of everything he believed in, and was should have been so to any Hive citizen.

"Put them on the next armoured transport to Sea Hive," the commander instructed. "The Chairman will want to see that they are reprogrammed so that their will not be a repetition of their betrayal. If any of them resist, kill them."

The solider accepted his orders, and marched back out of the room.

********************************************

Sparta Command Aerospace Complex

The rest of William’s team mates had begun to arrive. There were three Y.C. Privates who had arrived already, apparently fresh out of the Academy. While Y.C. ranks held no value other than Cadet in the real Spartan military, with the Y.C. William was a high ranking officer. This put him in charge of the team, a fact that clearly frustrated him.

William didn’t want another assignment, he didn’t care about the stupid war anymore. All he cared about was finding Sharra. And now he was stuck with a bunch of needlejets that were ready to be scraped, and a team of three sixteen year olds who he had already managed to alienate.

The three privates stood several feet apart, discussing in low tones amongst themselves. There were two guys, Private Hardy and Private Vestor, and a girl, Private Sali. Private Hardy was actually a Gaian who had joined the Youth Corps since there was no similar organisation within her faction.

"Willie!" a familiar voice called out to William from across the hanger. William looked up to see Brad crossing the hanger floor with a huge grin plastered on his face. "Guess who just joined your team?"

"What did you do to deserve that?" questioned William.

"I asked to be transferred here," he replied as he reached his friend. "What you didn’t think you’d get rid of me so easily, did you?"

"Look, if I were you, I’d get out of here as soon as you can." As William said this a startling young woman entered the hanger and crossed the space between them.

"You must be Lt. Bradford," the newcomer said extending her hand. "Lt. Kingswell reporting for duty."

"Lt., huh? What did you do to deserve this post?" William asked in all seriousness.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?" she replied with a smile on her lips as she walked over to introduce herself to the others.

[edgecrusher]

closure, 1.1

The starcuriser emerged from the constellation Eminix and headed for the fifth manifold. The ship had a gracefull, yet biological appearance to it. It was well over a kilometer long, with a sloped prow taking up a good third or so of the ship. It had long silky sails, and looked more like a fish, rather than a spaceship. Its mottled grey hull glinted in the light, pulsating with anxiety.

"we are too late," c'Tan resonated. The Usurpers have beaten us to the fifth manifold. He raised his fist in anger and brought it down on the tray resting to his right. A teacup flew through the air defiantly, nearly hitting the Communications Officer in the head. It ended its short journey with a satisfied crash against the commscreen.

"What will we do now?" the Second Officer resonated.

"Look at the veiw screen. See how quicky the shockwaves are dissapating? Can you feel the urgency of the resonance? This happened a cycle ago, If that. Send out a scouting patrol." c'Tan resonated.

"Yes, sir. We have fifteen scoutships available, each with twenty gnats, and ten ogres." the Security Officer H'minnee resonated.

"Good. Send a ship to each of the nearest stars."

"Sir?" the Comm Officer resonated, still jumpy from the teacup incident, "look at this." There was a definite pull out of the still expanding clouds over Manifold Five. "looks like a scoutship had made considerable haste leaving."

"What trajectory?"

The Comm Officer resonated uncertainty, mixed with horror: "Centauri, sir." The bridge fell silent.

After a moment, c'Tan gathered himself. "Officer H'minnee, Take the d'Kantus to Centauri, and send the other scoutships to the nearest stars. This might be a usurper trick." he resonated with apprehension.

"yes, sir," H'minnee resonated.

------------------
i've had the poison leak into my skin
and it corroded my heart away

[Hydro]

Sea Hive

Yang sat down in a low stool in an austere and brightly lit room. In his hand he had an archaic paper book, which was obviously much used, as evidenced by its dog-eared edges. He placed his book on his lap, where its worn vaguely yellow binding contrasted glaringly with Yang's simple medium blue utility jumper. The book itself was slim with a duraplastic cover and spine. In total it was probably two centimeters in thickness.

With deliberate slowness Yang placed his right hand on the right edge of the cover. Doing so, he paused and took several deep breaths and read the cover for perhaps the thousandth time: Dynamics of the Mind, by Sheng-ji Yang. Satisfied, he carefully opened his small tome. After opening his book he started turned the pages one by one as if savoring the experience. While doing so he would occasionally pause and read a favorite passage, but in no one area did he pause more than several moments.

Finally he reached the page he was looking for. He looked up at his guest with his deep, brown eyes and broke the silence.

"Did you know that back on Earth that I taught Contemporary Confucian Thought at Beijing University? I was very young then and it was very long ago, and literally a world away. I now have so little time and my duties are multifold, but my guests deserve special consideration," Yang asked in his soft but penetrating voice. Although almost whispered the words boomed through the room, and then ceased just as suddenly and startlingly.

Receiving no answer, and expecting none, Yang looked back to his book again. Still looking down he continued.

"I have had few students over the years and I share this wisdom with you as a gift. Perhaps you will be more attentive to their lessons then they were. All of us have an incentive to learn, but some of us have more incentive than others."

Yang's student stared down at him with unbelieving eyes as Yang droned on about his obscure and tortuous philosophy: the individual does not exist outside his society, duality and opposition are necessary for spiritual attainment, control and subjugation of emotion and personal desire is the first step in the quest for perfection and enlightenment.

As usual Yang did not notice, or chose not to notice, his student's incredulous gaze. He started to read aloud, intoning each word with a certain inflection as if to add a dynamic power and meaning to the words. These words, his own words, obviously had a deep-set meaning to Yang and he was taking great care to ensure that they were properly communicated.

Standing in front of Yang, Morgan Junior was naked, spread eagled in this punishment sphere listening as his 'teacher' gave him his second of what promised to be an eternity of lessons.

Junior closed his eyes. He didn't know what was worse: the wracking pain that lanced his body every several minutes or Yang's insane philosophy.

After a moment Junior decided he would take the pain any day.

[Hydro]

Assassin's Redoubt

Mary wandered into the small kitchen, paused, and took an appreciative sniff of the air. Dinner was cooking! Markus was standing at the autochef tapping in some last minute changes to his favorite recipes from the databanks. Every now and then he would set the data entry to voice recognition when he had to look to his skillets and boilers on the autochef range. Even though most people choose prepared food, humanity had never gotten over what was almost a need to prepare their own sustenance since meals were a social event. It didn't matter that the autochef, delivered prepared food, and instant food were cheaper and better - some people enjoy cooking or thought of it as a hobby. Markus was one of those, when he had time.

A smile started as Mary noticed Markus was totally absorbed in his 'work'. Mary reflected that Men in general, and Markus in particular, had the strange ability to focus and tune everything out when completing a task. Mary knew she could never be focused in that way, even if she had any significant interest in cooking, and she didn't. Markus' 'ability' was fun to play with, through, and Mary's smile grew as she snuck up on an unsuspecting Markus.

Getting within 10 centimeters of Markus, Mary stood up on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder. He was stirring some onions he was sautéing and manually adding some spices. Mary didn't know what they were but really didn't care since it smelled wonderful.

Time to have her fun.

"What 'cha doing?" she asked, speaking almost directly into Markus' right ear.

Markus started with an exclamation, dropping his wooden spoon, which hit the top of the autochef range and clattered to the floor. A thin arc of minced onions and olive oil flew in a parabolic arc, impacting both Markus' "Kiss Me I'm The Chef" apron and the floor.

"Mary!!" almost yelled, more startled than mad. He tried, belatedly, to catch the spoon, which more than eluded his grasp. In doing so he lurched backward, bumping into Mary. She responded to the impact by grabbing the nearest object she could, which was Markus.

"Don't do that!" he said, making a feeble effort to pry her arms away from his midsection as he tried to bend down to get his stirring spoon. Mary just held on tighter and finally he just gave up. He found it very hard to stay even annoyed with Mary, especially since they had been married a whole 8 days. They had gotten married at the last minute before shipping out to the Peacekeeper front, but then their orders were cancelled when peace was declared with the Peacekeepers due to the alien threat. While the higher ups decided what to do about Yang and the aliens, most in the Spartan military were on alert but were pulling normal hours. To Markus and Mary this was a boon from heaven. It wasn't like a honeymoon, but the extra time together and with family was always welcome. In a way they thanked these enigmatic aliens.

"Do you want me to stop?" Mary cooed, snuggling in a little.

"Well, no," Markus admitted, "but at least let me finish cooking! I don't want anything to burn. I have it on manual, you know."

"OK," Mary relented. She let go and stepped back a little, then picked up the spoon and handed it to Markus. Mark took the spoon.

"I have to get a clean one. But thanks," he said as he put the spoon on the counter and took another from his small collection of kitchen utensils.

"When will dinner be done? The Special Report on Morgan Holovid is about to start. Rao said we should all watch it, since Sparta Command has been pretty tight with the information on the aliens. He did advise us to be a bit skeptical, though, since the Morgans are just as likely to hype a story for ratings than worry too much about the truth."

"Yah, I remember," Markus kind of responded, slipping into his 'focus' mind again.

Mary noticed and poked him gently in the ribs.

"OK! I heard you! Dinner will be ready in a moment or two. Have Mom and Dad arrive yet?"

Relieved at finally getting Markus' undivided attention, Mary filled him in: "Your Dad called and said he had just gotten off the job at the tree farm, and that your Mom is bringing a blackberry tort. I could hear Mara in the background yelling 'hello', so I assume she will be coming too. I wish I had half her energy! They should be here in about 10 minutes."

"Perfect. Is the living room configured for full holo reception?"

Mary's pursed her lips. "What do you think I've been doing for the last 20 minutes? Your holo rig is not even close to state-of-the-art, so I had to so some rigging to get it to full holo. You should be very glad you married an electronics engineer!"

"I thank the gods every day!" Markus responded with a smile and a hint of exaggeration. Then he bent forward and gave her a quick peck.

"Which gods? The gods of lust and passion, or love and devotion?" Mary quipped back.

"I'm not telling. Now go away so I can finish," Markus said, going into 'focus' mode again.

Mary left the kitchen to activate and do a final check of the holo rig. It should be pretty good, if it worked. The five of them should feel like they were in the live audience of the Morganvid Special Report Aliens: Fact and Fiction.

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

Mary, Markus, his parents, and dark-haired Mara felt like they were seated in the plush audience hall of the Morganvid Auditorium at Morgan Industries. They could feel the plush seats and see the throngs of people all around them, all while knowing they were at home at Assassins' Redoubt. There were only occasional flaws, where one of the simulated audience members would rez out for a second as the dataflow overloaded Markus' old equipment. However, the main event on the central stage was perfect. The stage held the MC and a panel of experts in xenobiology, philosophy, military, and a host of other professions. Considering it was a virtual event it was amazingly well done - it was as perfect as a Morganvid always was.

The MC, in a brilliant yellow and blue suit with an almost gaudy Morganvid logo on the lapel, stood and walked to the translucent podium. He was of indeterminate age, like all Morganvid representatives, was smooth in his gate and he radiated a commanding presence. On cue the audience murmur hushed as reached his dias and he was backlit with almost brilliant light that almost gave him a halo.

"Welcome to the first Morganvid Special Report: Aliens - Fact or Fiction. We have all been thrilled, alarmed, and intrigued by the arrival of the first aliens humanity has ever encountered. They arrived with startling suddenness, and announced their presence by destruction of the Spartan and Morgan orbital hydrolabs. There have been rumors of a vast fleet of alien spaceships in orbit around Chiron, and even tales of aliens cities near Nessus Canyon. We have all heard many rumors, but what do we know? What does it all mean? Is it a threat, or an opportunity? Is this the glorious first contact humanity has dreamed of for centuries, or something much darker and forbidding?"

The MC paused for effect as he built up the tension. In the virtual seats, the Auralius family was rapt, as were all in the audience. The MC, Martin Sing, knew his job.

"First, what do we know. I will turn now to Spartan Field Marshal Wang, senior commander of the Spartan fast response forces and a senior member of the Spartan command structure. He has been authorized by the Spartan government to illuminate us as to the critical events in the last week or so. Field Marshal?"

The brilliant light now focused on the image of Field Marshal Wang, who stood and approached the podium as the MC backed away. He was shorter than average with a stout frame and steel grey hair and wore his full dress Spartan uniform, which was decked with metals and commendations.

At the podium he looked out to his virtual audience and seemed to look each person in the eye.

"Ladies and gentlemen, nine days ago a fleet of approximately 90 alien warships appeared through what can only be a wormhole into orbit around Chiron. These warships then proceeded to destroy first the Spartan hydroponics lab, then shortly thereafter the Morgan hydroponics lab. Significantly, the Hive hydroponics lab has been left intact. The only direct communication we have received has been translated as: You are in violation of the Tau Ceti accords. Prepare for death."

If Martin Sing had enraptured his audience, Wang stunned them. He was direct and clear.

"Since and during this time a launch was detected from Hive space, and this launch was observed going into high orbit toward the alien spacecraft. It was not destroyed, and appeared to dock with this spacecraft. Additional craft were observed going into orbit and from orbit toward the area known as Nessus Canyon, which is an area claimed by the Hive. The trajectories of these atmospheric re-entries and launches have been plotted and all focus on four areas. Survey data from the now destroyed Spartan and Morgan hydrolabs have been reviewed to focus on these four areas and I will present to you, for the first time, our findings."

The lights surrounding Wang dimmed, and a holo appeared above him. It showed the rather bleak landscape around Nessus Canyon with an icon around the four areas plotted by the launches are re-entries. These views zoomed in separately, showing wide expanses of fungus and some bare earth.

"These are the areas of the launches to and from the space fleet and also from the Hive. Analysis of historic data has found some anomalies, indicating that all is not as it appeared. For instance, there are significant metallic and energy anomalies in these four areas. A cross comparison with multiple views of survey data show a prolonged distortion."

Zooming in further the distortion could be seen. It looked like a mirage, similar to what might be present from rising heat from the desert heat. The background of each area seemed to shimmer slightly. The holo representation shifted from an aerial to an oblique view, and the terrain in back of the target areas seemed to shift and jump slightly.

"Analysis by Spartan and Morgan data analysis has confirmed that what you are seeing, which has been released to you by both the Spartan and Morgan governments for the first time, is actually the side effects of an advanced distortion 'resonance' field. In more common usage, it might be called a cloaking device. These four sites are, ladies and gentlemen, four alien colonies that have been present for some time. This distortion field is why they were not previously identified by our satellites - they simply didn't know what to look for."

Wang let that bombshell sink in. As they watched, the holo resolved itself as the effects of the resonance field were stripped away. At each of the four locations there was a collection of tall, tan colored towers that reached upward. The towers were perched on interconnected struts that kept them above the ground and almost seemed to defy gravity. The architecture was striking, and all-together alien. The cities were also huge.

"Based on comparisons to human cities, we estimate these four cities could contain between 70,000 and 100,000 aliens each. This puts them in the league with the largest human settlements on Chiron."

After a brief pause, Wang continued.

"In breaking news, I have been authorized to tell you that there have been a mass of orbital re-entries. At first we suspected these to be orbital bombardment or missile attacks, but most of the 20 or so re-entries were centered on the alien bases. At least two landed in Hive territory. We did get some recon on these devices and this is what we saw."

Below the holos of the bases a new image appeared. It was a mechanical device with an ovoid torso and four multipronged legs. As it was entering the atmosphere its ablative heat shield was burning away, then discarded. It deployed a massive parasail and retrorockets to controll its reentry into the thick Chiron atmosphere.

The device itself was something out a nightmare. As the resolution improved it looked like something right out of the berserker vids of the last hundreds of years of science fiction. The torso was fairly small, but had multiple projections, depressions, tubes, weapon barrels, and small arms. Radiating from the torso were four huge legs with multipronged ends and wickedly sharp projections. Rough dimensions appeared over the image as resolution improved - it was at least 20 meters tall and 20 meters wide. It was clearly a machine of war.

"Surprisingly, we know what this is: it is what was dubbed a 'battle ogre'. Searching Gaian records, one of their mindworm patrols in the early 2150s found a smaller version of this type of device while exploring the Great Fungal Wall by Assassin's Redoubt. The device was emitting a strong electromagnetic signature, just like the Unity Pods did. The patrol team found the device encased in a protective mesh of fungus, which was in itself noteworthy since the fungus almost always destroys the metallic and man-made objects it encroaches on or blooms under. The Gaian team freed the object, and it turned itself on. It then communicated with the mindworm in their care. When it tried to communicate via the mindworm to the human controllers one human went mad, one went catatonic, and the third remained sane enough to give it orders. They tried to send it back to Assassin's Redoubt. Unfortunately, it never made it there. It was reportedly destroyed by a native mindworm horde that originated out of the famous Monolith Ring. No piece of it was ever recovered, and the story was put down to the insane ramblings of a dysfunctional team in the Gaian Mindworm Corps.

"The salient point is that it is of alien manufacture, so we can assume that these are the same aliens in orbit around Chiron are the ones that at least lived or visited Chiron in the past. We do not know if these are the same aliens that created the Monoliths, or even the very peculiar Chrion ecology, as some have speculated. From a military point of view, the 20 battle ogres that now exist on the surface of Chiron are formidable fighting machines. The rough estimates of the abilities of the Gaian battle ogre indicate that it was better than a missile infantry brigade. These units are much larger than the Gaian battle ogre, and we can only assume they are much more powerful.

"In conclusion, we know nothing of the aliens' physiography, origin, or motives, beyond the cryptic reference to Tau Ceti, which may be a star system. We do know this: the aliens possess technology far superior to humans, they have been to Chiron before, they can harness wormholes for space travel, something human theoretical physicists can only dream about, and they possess a strong military capability both on the ground and in space. Most importantly, they have seemingly allied with The Human Hive and are hostile to the rest of humanity on Chiron."

Wang paused again and the holos winked out, and the bright light illuminated Wang again. His face was serious, deadly serious.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this may be the greatest threat to humanity in our history. We must first determine the nature of the threat, and then, if necessary, destroy it."

With that, Field Marshal Wang turned and walked away from the podium. As he did holos that showed the four alien bases, the destruction of the hydroponic satellites, and the aerial reentry of the battle ogres sprang back into existence.

The audience watched with stunned silence,

[Hydro]

Spires: Ascendant

click, scraaaaaaape

click, scraaaaaaape

click, scraaaaape

T'rng paused in her slow passage through the hallway. Her left talon was giving her trouble again. She extended her left claws and placed them on the undulatory wall and gently leaned against it, taking her weight off the troublesome digit. Raising her foot slightly she inspected it for the thousandth time: it was an unhealthy pink, and was bent backward and atrophied. It wouldn't be long now before it lost all blood circulation and fell off.

Her hardened gill slits clicked shut at the thought. She reached down to touch the talon and tried to push it back into place, feeling a very slight nausea as she stressed the diseased flesh.

T'rng resonated discordantly. The only way to fix her talon was to have a new one grown, and that wasn't likely to happen any time soon, or ever. She knew she would simply have to live with the discomfort and stigma. Those that are triaged never receive any medical care, by the order of Conquer Marr.

Still, one has to prove your worth even if triaged, T'rng resonated to herself. The alternative is the tanks.

She put her taloned foot gently on the floor again and put some weight on it.

Yes, the pain is bearable, she resonated, and I will take much upon my discolored carapace, for I must.

T'rng's mandibles glided over each other sideways in contentment, adding a forth harmonic to her soft resonance. Placing one foot after the other she once again carefully made her way to the task assigned to her. It was a task that was shunned by all warriors, but one that she relished. Even after all she had been through, and all that she had seen in her long life, even she found it odd that she relished her task.

click, scraaaaaaape

click, scraaaaaaape

click, scraaaaape

The sound of her discomfort was absorbed by the hallway's walls as T'rng slowly and methodically made her way to the gestation chamber.

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

A low reddish hued light filled the cramped by cavernous room. Bank upon bank of electronics, probes, medical arms, and head-high cabinets filled the room, with barely enough space to wheel a service card through. The cabinets were by far the most prominent feature of the room simply because of the number of them - there were thousands. To each cabinet a wide and brightly colored series of tubes and conduits ran, and in front of each cabinet there was a control panel.

T'rng looked up and ambled over to the storage locker and fluted a trill at it. It beeped twice in response, and she placed the edge of her talon pad against the ID sensor. It beeped again and the doors slid open, showing shelves full of datapads, midpacks of diagnostic equipment, and exploratory probes. Swiveling her best eye socket around she spied what she was looking for. She reached out and picked out her datapad and waistbelt.

Placing the datapad in the waistbelt, she clicked it into at cleft in her outer chitin, the blue layer. Normally it wasn't blue, of course, but a deep mottled green. It had been blue so long T'rng didn't even notice anymore.

Prepared, she grasped the side of the open locker for support as she turned around.

So much to do, she thought happily, mandibles clicking in anticipation. A thin line of drool slipped from her maw.

She paced over to the first cabinet and trilled a chord at it. A pneumatic pop sounded as the seal was broken, and the doors slid open sideways. The red light from the room slowly filled the shallow cabinet, revealing melon-sized spheres inside. A dank, moist odor or rotting grass filled T'rng's tongue. Reaching over to her waistbelt she took out a probe and pointed it toward the base of the cabinet, which appeared to be filled with a dark gelatinous substance. It was quivering slightly, and it quivered more as the probe activated. Ripples spread across the surface as the harmonics of the probe activated the nanites. Rivulets of gelatin formed up and flowed up the base that cradled each of the spheres, which started undulating at its touch.

Eggs in Tr:34 are at stage two, T'ring resonated into her datapad, gestation estimated in 30 cycles. Schedule cabinet upgrade for RNA treatment.

Assessment done, T'rng used her tongue to smell the lovely smell again. If she did this a centum of times she knew she would never tire of it.

She trilled again, and the doors closed, shutting the neutral red light away from the activated nanoprobes. Soon the little Progenitors, each enhanced according the wishes of Conquer Marr, would be ready for hatching, and then their gray matter enhancement. Some rumored that these clones were primarily of Marr himself, since he was the epitome of what a Progenitor could be. T'rng didn't care, especially since such idle thoughts were enough cause for ritual evisceration.

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

Finally! T'rng thought to herself, gestation chamber Tr:98!

Her gill slits were wide open, her hardened flaps flared to take in as much oxygen as possible.

She trilled and the door opened with a pop, as usual. Inside were another bank of eggs and the same semi-inert gelatinous mass at the base of the cabinet. This time, instead of activating it with her probe she placed her probe back in her waistbelt.

Her eyes swiveled each way to detect one of the other attendants that rarely visited this gestation chamber, or the movement of a mechanized server. T'rng knew this area was outside of the watchful eye of the watch sensors. It had had an accident a while ago and was slightly realigned. Not enough to cause a malfunction indicator, but enough to place the activities at this chamber just off its field of view.

Almost reverently T'rng leaned forward and extended both clawed paws. She brushed them lightly over one egg, her favorite egg. It was wholly and unmistakably beautiful. She could tell that inside was a Special. She could feel its resonance, even now.

Gingerly, gently she grasped the egg from its stand, feeling its warmth and the life pulsing within. Its surface was leathery and somewhat pliant and was identical to all the others. But still, T'rng knew this egg was Special.

Both eyes swiveled to view this wonder in front of her, and she unconsciously started the Linking Resonance. Her song folded over her beloved egg, washing it in age-old Progenitor tradition, a tradition specifically banned by Conquer Marr. With a snap T'rng felt the link harden, and it altered back!

Ecstasy!!

T'rng poured herself into her song! Never before had the Special altered back! She could feel the link, and felt it grow as the harmonics built. Two fold! Three fold harmonic!

Slowly T'rng brought the Special up to her mandibles, and she washed and cleaned the egg instinctively. Her saliva and slight rasps of her mandibles against the egg's surface allowed her RNA to permeate, softening the egg's surface ever so slightly. The egg grew sticky as she worked over the surface. She could feel the skin of her own paws and talons respond, losing rigidity and gaining resiliency. Finally the egg seemed bonded to her skin and she knew it was The Time.

The pain was worth it. She willed her aged carapace to open, exposing her naked flesh to the cruel, cold, and dry air. She placed the egg in her thorax, as the Caretakers said to do. Lodging her egg into place, her carapace closed.

T'rng started resonating, and the pulses echoed through her body and the egg within. New connections were being forged. T'rng knew it.

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

T'rng's head crenulations almost drooped from exhaustion. They had long ago lost their bright coloring, and they no longer carried the dangles to catch the eye of roving conquerors when she was in season. That had been so very long ago.

The egg was now safely in its cabinet.

T'rng was satisfied. Even if she were called to the tanks tomorrow she knew she had done her duty. She had given The Special all that she could give. Her Link would enable this Progenitor to see more than what Marr programmed him to see. Most of the eggs would be come warriors for Marr's army, a cloned army that would wash over Manifold 6.

But not her Special. She had given him the Caretaker's gift.

[Hydro]

Spires: Ascendant

A Conqueror approached T'rng. By his bearing and sash she knew he was at least a lieutenant and she quickly assumed a submissive posture and edged to the side of the eating chamber. She and the rest of the old ones were queued up for their evening meal. As the Conqueror got near she noticed that he was looking over all that were in the line. Everyone tried to look both submissive and straight at the same time, sometimes with comical effect. One old male tried to stand so straight that his rear leg joint popped out of place, causing him and those around him to fall in a heap. This elicited peals of laughter from the seated Conquerors, who were busy eating from the best of the first bin. The old ones were lucky to get the scraps or, if they were unlucky or the Conquerors unusually hungry, food from the second bin.

T'rng knew she was the sorriest of the lot but did her best to look hale anyway. All of her old friends had long ago gone to the tanks. It was a duty to society and a gift to future generations, Marr said. Still, T'rng didn't want to go. Not just yet.

The hulking shape neared, then stopped by T'rng.

"Old one," the Conqueror resonated, "you have one more task in your service to Marr. You are to report to the tanks."

T'rng could feel the relief in those around her. Usually they only selected one for the tanks, and today it was her turn. She resonated a wordless reply of submission and assent. The big Conqueror took out a small device from his outer chitin and scanned her to get her ID, then downloaded to the Spires: Ascendant data repository.

The hulking form left, his selection done.

T'rng knew standing in line was wasteful. She now had no place to sleep and could not draw food from the bins. She had but one duty left.

A talon bushed lightly on her rear carapace, followed by a sympathetic resonance from those around her. She accepted the homage from her fellow old ones. Many times she, too, had offered similar sympathy to those chosen.

A feeling of peace washed over T'rng. My life has been good, and I have seen much, she resonated to herself.

Drawing up her strength T'rng turned from the line and walked toward the door, leaving the cacophony of noise and life as a Progenitor behind.

No one watched her go.

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

T'rng stood by the shuttle observation window, looking once again at the airless void and her habitation as it receded behind her. The outer surfaces of the multifaceted domes and rising spires glittered like jewels in the waste light from the quantum drive.

It looks like sunlight sparkling on water! T'rng thought to herself in wonder. She had always wanted to travel into space and never thought she would have the chance. But then, she had been called. Now she was on the shuttle!

She had little latitude to move, strapped in as she was. She had just been lucky enough to have a glorious view out one of the portside windows. The entire shuttle was filled with excited Progenitors, each identically strapped in carapace to carapace aboard the transport.

Why did they select me? T'rng thought for the thousandth time. At first she had felt threatened by the thought of leaving the only home she had ever known. Then the thrill of discovery just around the corner hit and she couldn't wait! To be selected by Conquer Marr for an important mission! One that would cause the silly Caretakers to admit defeat and prove the Usurpers correct, once and for all!

Glory to Marr!

Finally the glittering faded and her habitation asteroid became a disk, then a point of light, then a mote lost among the stars.

A low resonance began to build, and T'rng craned her eyesockets to see. The Progenitors in the front of the shuttle were trilling excitedly.

The grand starship approached! Planetary Scoutship 427_s!

T'rng could barely contain her excitement. She thought, Soon I will leave Tau Ceti forever!

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

"Up! Up!" a voice resonated at her, not waiting for her to alter back.

Arms grabbed her semi-inert form. T'rng felt groggy from hypersleep, or maybe it was the aftereffects of the wormhole. Regardless of the cause, the floor seemed to move, and what little that was in her crop threatened to explode on to the hull of the ship.

This was NOT how she expected to be awakened from hypersleep.

Slowly her senses refocused and she noticed that the floor was indeed moving! And, it seemed to be changing!

That is not supposed to happen either!

Crowds of Progenitors were running and carrying inert forms that had not been fully wakened from hypersleep, and they were all running in one direction: toward the life pods.

The realization hit T'rng like a bolt of lightning. For some reason the ship was evacuating. A low rumble strengthened her sense of urgency and she followed the crowd to where she vaguely remembered the life pods were.

A young Progenitor in front of her was struggling with a huge form. The little male was trilling unhappily, sending out resonances of aimless distress. No one was helping, and the inert form must be his master. Without thinking T'rng grasped the other paw of the inert form to help the youngling drag the Conqueror toward the waiting life pods.

Or, at least T'rng hoped they were waiting.

The halls were getting crowded now, and the rumbling grew more insistent and the emergency lighting switched on. Loud booms echoed through the metallic halls as bulkheads sealed.

There must be a breach, T'rng through unhappily. Having been born and raised in a space habitat she knew this was the worst kind of disaster. All that separated their fragile Progenitor flesh from the cold, cruel airless space were thin layers of composites, metals, and force fields. If these failed, then life would fail.

And for some reason, Planetary Scoutship 427_s was failing.

The crowds were thinning now, and bay after bay of life pods were empty, having ejected their contents safely away from the apparently stricken ship. Worse, the Conqueror they were dragging was getting very heavy, especially considering she was still recovering from the effects of hypersleep. Her breath became labored, and her gill flaps fluted to gain more air.

All around her the air seemed to get misty, and T'rng saw her exhaled warm, moist air condense with each breath. The air around her was cooling rapidly. Life support has failed, she though miserably. Like all Progenitors, she liked it warm and moist, but she could function in cold even if she didn't like it one bit. Of course, she had an incentive.

Rounding a bend she saw a cluster of shivering Progenitors crowding into a life pod. With one last heave she and her youngling pulled the Conqueror through the hatch. She could feel at least carapace joints pull loose, and it hurt.

A harried Conqueror was ordering sluggish Progenitors into crash couches.

"You," he resonated at T'rng, "Secure the Conqueror, then the youngling, then yourself! Bay U:21 to 23!"

T'rng did as she was ordered. Pushing the inert form into the couch, it formed to fit him and sealed automatically. The youngling threw himself into the bay adjacent to his master, as was his duty, and the protective force field descended on him, too.

A few more stragglers came in, almost catatonic form the cold.

While ordering these frigid refugees to their places, T'rng assisted those around her. While doing so she heard the Conqueror resonate fiercely about 'Caretaker Treachery' and 'Singularity Mines'.

T'rng didn't have time to muse on the subject because the ship jolted violently, throwing the few still standing to the side. T'rng clawed her way to her crash couch as the floor pitch increased to 10, then 15 and then 30 degrees. The commanding Conqueror threw himself at his couch like an acrobat and secured himself, just as T'rng did so, too. Then he hit the launch sequence.

As they left she heard a rippling explosion, which was cut short as the craft detached from the stricken ship. The last of the artificial gravity failed, and the few that weren't in their couches now flailed helplessly in zero gravity.

T'rng closed her eyes, not wanting to see their fate.

The descent was terrifying - full of light, heat, noise, and screams of death.

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

T'rng watched the singularity resonators and nanos build yet another building and clear more fungus from this inhospitable world. It was not nearly as warm a moist as she would like, and the atmosphere had far too little nitrogen. It was like breathing air from a high mountain all the time!

Still, it was more like her home than what she could have hoped. The fungus was both familiar and alien. Its general form and color were reassuring, but the shapes and extent were nothing like what was 'normal'. This fungus was wild, and not in the service of the Progenitors. This planet, Manifold 6, was one of the Progenitor's grandest experiments, but an experiment gone sadly and madly wrong. This planet fought the Progenitors, and its avatars the mindworms were relentless. No matter how the vaunted scientists worked they could not understand fully this almost alien ecology. How many Conquerors had died in the fungus? Hundreds? Thousands?

Still, in only 5 turnings the Progenitors had expanded nicely, creating four cities out of the barren and freckles wastes. Nanos recreated what the singularities destroyed and reshaped, literally taking the stuff of Manifold 6, tearing it apart, and reforming it as desired.

There was battle with the mindworm vectors and constant building, but there was something more. There were rumors: rumors of aliens, true aliens. Conqueror Marr insisted that an elaborate resonance field be erected, and its only purpose could be secrecy. Such fields were used to hide small space habitats from the deprecations of the evil Caretakers. Were the Caretakers on Manifold 6? Were there aliens?

'No time for musings', T'rng thought to herself. 'I've already been punished twice this cycle for not attending to my duties, and I do not enjoy Marr's punishments.'

Her claw unconsciously reached up to a missing portion of her chitin on her head, where her mating dangles used to be. 'Yes, punishment can wound more than it hurts,' she thought unhappily.

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

"I choose you," the young Conqueror resonated at T'rng. He tasted her pheromones, and looked with pleasure at her. She was in season and ripe. He knew he was a Conqueror and she couldn't refuse him, even if she wanted to.

T'rng, in turn, responded to his ritual advance with a deep biological longing. This Conqueror was strong, able, and he tasted right. She could taste his pheromones and they made her blood race, and the glands on her back enlarged and expanded, causing her carapace to 'pop' as the glands engorged. It was a heady rush.

With lessening caution the male advanced, and T'rng lowered herself so that her ruptured carapace faced him. Finally, he could stand it no longer and rushed at her, embedding his abdomen on her bright purple flesh.

T'rng felt the moment, and extended her proboscis and took the male, entering his body and feeling for what she needed. He didn't resist as her probe grabbed his gamate, then retracted. She repeated this twice more until she was sure she had it all, every last one. With each lance the male lurched, his eye sockets yellow from her purple narcotic.

Sated, T'rng withdrew, leaving the expended male on the ground bleeding from his small wound.

"It will heal," T'rng through as she happily as she walked down the hall.

Now I would clutch!

Glory to Marr!

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

"You shall turn you clutch over to Marr," the Fertility Director demanded, resonating a sixth harmonic that said he would accept no altering. "The Grand Conqueror Marr has decreed that all clutches shall be tested and raised according to his wishes."

T'rng was stunned. Turn over her clutch? How could he ask that!

Two Conquerors stepped to either side of her to reinforce the point.

The first stirrings of hatred rose in T'rng. They lead her to the medical table, where they flipped her over and placed her on the table. She felt helpless and alone, and she was. A medical arm whirred twice and clamped over her abdomen, securing it against all movement. From the ceiling a long, translucent tube came down, and it attached itself to her abdomen.

There was no pain, but here was a feeling of heart wrenching loss as T'rng saw her eggs, her clutch, flow into the translucent tube and away into the ceiling.

She eye sockets swiveled closed and her gill slits worked furiously, trying to understand. But there was nothing to understand.

Her contribution to the Progenitor race had been removed and she would never clutch again.

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

How many turning had it been? 40? 50? In that time T'rng had come to understand much. Even if her duties were menial, she could sometimes sense the Voice. It resonated like a far off echo, out of focus and far too faint to understand, but it was there. The Voice came at all times of the day and none. As best as T'rng could tell it was always there, part of the Grand Experiment of Manifold 6.

Why didn't the Marr's great scientists understand this? If the grand Marr could be so wrong about this, what else is he wrong about? Could the Caretakers have been right all along?

T'rng tried to remember all she had been taught, and taught to hate, about the Caretakers. Marr wanted to use Manifold 6 as a weapon, as a tool. The Caretakers preached that the Grand Experiment was flawed, and that the Manifolds were sentient beings and that the Progenitors, their creators, should walk with and try to understand them.

Who was right?

T'rng knew she didn't know, but she resolved to find out.

She would listen to the Voice, if it would talk to her.

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

A crowd of youngling Conquerors waits impatiently, testing the strength and wits of their Master. They teem around him, trilling and resonating for the right to fight, for those that fought and fought well eat from the first bin. Those that just fought get to eat, but from the second bin. For those just hatched and not fully-grown life consists of eating, fighting, and sleeping, with daily RNA treatments to ensure that cognitive ability equals or exceeds than their super-enhanced growth rate. Of course, growing up this fast requires prestigious amount of food, and gaining food is a daily battle for a young Conquerors.

Today is a special day, and all the younglings know it. It was the day of battle, a real battle, and a true test for glory of Conqueror Marr!

A door opens, and a figure slowly walks out. The younglings turn and face their combatant, faces locked in a hard stare and mandibles working furiously. Not one moves, not until given the order from their Master. To disobey brings punishment, from denial of eating to much worse.

T'rng looks at the brood facing her. In the front she sees her Special. He has indeed grown big and strong!

In a flicker he recognizes her, and resonates a query.

"Yes, it is I. You know what to do," she resonates to him in her Song, reassuring him. She knows none of the others can understand Planetvoice, for it is alien to them. Usurpers do not understand Planet, and never will.

Her Special trills unhappily.

Then the Master resonates sharply to the younglings: "This is your meat! Kill!"

Like a horde, the younglings descend upon T'rng. Her Special hesitates for a moment, and then he joins his broodmates. It is his duty, and his Mother gave him permission. He understands her sacrifice, and he does what he must.

She tastes good.

[edgecrusher]

closure, 1.2

...

darkness.

wet.

warmth.

Archon opened his eye and attempted to move. It was only now that the sensation of being buried by mindworms was apparent. Strangely, he didn't feel the usual terror that is associated with mindworms, and other planet flora. He attempted to activate his locater.

you are safe boomed a voice in his head.

Archon's eye began to adjust to the light. His lens had been knocked out in the journey over to... where ever he was. He was laying on the floor (or wall, it was difficult for him to decide this), just off-center in an enormous room. The walls were teeming with activity... they appeared to be moving in random directions, but when studied closer, it formed a pattern. It reminded him of when he first saw the inner workings of alpha prime. The LED flashes were seemingly randonm at first, but they formed a visualization of the basic cognitive algorithm of the consciousness.

It was more or less the same here, only this algorithmic loop was much, MUCH older than anything that archon had ever seen, let alone be alive to see. A feeling of great sadness began to wash over him.

...was all he heard. It was more than a moan, or a sound. It seemed to fill up his very being, this wail. Archon went rigid.

A planet appeared in his mind's eye. Rich with life and intelligence. It appeared to be much like Chiron. Although the actual shape of the continents and such were different, the fungal patterns were similar. The fungus appeared to glisten from orbit. It also appeared to have a strinkingly similar pattern to a very old cognitive feedback loop.

The planetside approached nighttime. A few large cities could been seen, imbetween the almost phosphorescent blue flashes. Slowly the flashes became more often, and in a darker green color. Soon, much of the fungus was illuminated with green with spots of orange. The lights were dancing, a very complicated dance at that. But, the pattern was still there. The pattern changed , and planet bathed in a mottled orange-red light. Archon felt a joy, mixed with apprehension, Like an expectant father. The lights went out for a split second, then flared violet. Archon's mind flailed in agony. The light got brighter, and a greater wave of sadness rushed over him. The planet went dark, and clouds of gasses rushed off the planet's surface. A small spaceship caught his eye as it sped just ahead of the rising gas, pulling it along behind it...

The sadness strenghtened a hundredfold, and a low hum became apparent. Archon screamed and lashed out with greif...

*********

near Pholus Ridge

The ground heaved and birthed a mindworm boil the likes of which Planet had never seen. All the anger, hate, and sorrow, Feuled the boil, as it headed towards the nearest settlement.

------------------
i've had the poison leak into my skin
and it corroded my heart away

[Googlie]

“We’re ready for launch, Conqueror,” resonated Sk’aard. “I suggest we send one first, and upon successful entry we’ll dispatch the rest.”

Marr caught the resonance, and pondered, subtly adjusting his flaps and rolling it around, catching on a flank, passing to an elbow, and reingesting its tone.

Sk’aard watched the contemplative process, secure in the knowledge that what he had resonated made sense, and after all, the Gnats were almost as close as broodmates to him. To Marr, however, they were just weapons.

Finally Marr altered “Let it be done as you suggest.”

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

‘Ypruss resonated in anguish “But it should be Tonc and I. You don’t comprehend the importance to the Gnats that Tonc, their undisputed leader, should be the first to planetside.”

“I comprehend,” altered Sk’aard. “But Tonc is too valuable to risk losing if our calculations are wrong. So Pilot Broc and Officer Ps’saat will go, with ‘Yelle who has undergone the modifications.”

‘Ypruss inclined her neck in submission. “Your resonances will be obeyed,” she altered weakly and left.

Broc shuffled forward, with his weapons officer, Ps’saat. “We are ready, Distinguished Commander, as is our Gnat,” he resonated to his commanding officer.

“Here are your co-ordinates on Planet,” altered Sk’aard, giving them the co-ordinates for Courage : To Question, Marr’s headquarters base. “We have computed your trajectory and flight path from launch to insertion to landing. The strip will be primitive, but the reinforced skids should suffice until an undercarriage can be fitted at the base. Discard what’s left of the heatshield after entry, as ‘Yelle will have one organically added at the base. M ost of the temporary growth will burn up anyway, we calculate. Emit resonance pulse every five hundredths so that we can track from here and from Planetside. Your launch is imminent.”

Broc inclined his head in assent, and went to the hanger to rendezvous with the craft.

As they made their way, Ps’saat was resonating excitedly, almost incoherent. “Will we need to fight our way down? If the aliens have spaceflight ability they must have heavier than air machines capable of flying in Planet’s atmosphere. What kind of weapons will they have? Did you get any reports from Marr’s people – I didn’t.”

As they entered the hanger, ‘Yelle picked up the resonating emanations of excitement.

Mission? To Planet? Testing my new skin?

Yes, you lucky Gnat. You will be the envy of your broodmates. The first to Planet, Broc empathed to his craft.

He examined the changes that had been made to her structure, some elements grafted on and others of a more temporary nature. Musclature had been enhanced with bio implants, and the skeletal structure had been strengthened through grafts. The most notable addition was the secondary growth that had been induced in ‘Yelle to build a heat shield that would burn off and be discarded on atmospheric entry.

The debate had centered around whether the cloaking could be adapted to a heat dissipation shield, but the consensus was that a bio shield would be preferable.

‘Yelle peeled open her crew pod, and Broc and Ps’saat climbed aboard.

The pre-flight systems checks were complete, and the order given to launch.

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

Exhilaration…..freedom…..I will wait for you broodmates on Planetside…..I soar…I see the mothership as a spec of reflected light against the backdrop of the blackness of space…..till we meet on Chiron.

I sense the heat building up as I swoop to the mottled red and blue and white of planet….not uncomfortable, but disconcerting…..as my skin encounters the thin upper atmosphere I feel the friction build up, and the outer layer begins to blacken as the planned molecular changes accelerate under the heat caused by the friction.

Then we are through, and my receptors analyze the nitrogen rich atmosphere as my surface cools and the flaked, blackened outer skin peels off in the slipstream….I sense Bronc’s command even as he empaths it, and I gingerly extend my wings from where they have been lying sleek against my fuselage. I feel them bite the atmosphere and exult in the sensation of Planet’s thin air rushing over my mottled skin.

…To fly…to soar and swoop…to command the air and defy gravity….I sing.

And then I heard the echo.

……fly……soar

And the music….a thousand notes…in harmony…

And the Voice, insistent, persuasive, filling my being with longing to touch, to share…to experience…

…Welcome…we have been waiting…..

I sensed them first, then they came, attaching themselves to my skin and entering into my consciousness, singly at first, then as they coalesced, with a growing collective sentience of their own.

…teach we song…we fly…we soar…

who are you? I query……are you like me, biologically and bionically grown for flight and warfare?

we fly…..one with planet…..and you?…

I was flummoxed

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

“Caretakers breath, I can’t see a thing” resonated Broc. “These darned locusts are all over the skin – they’re congealing the sensors and covering the canopy. You getting anything on the res-radar?”

“They’re jamming that as well,” altered Ps’saat. “Too darned many of them. My screens are all white res.”

“We’ll need to give ‘Yelle her head,” Broc altered in return. “But she’ll need to get rid of these pests.”

’Yelle. get rid of these parasites – we’re flying blind up here – follow the co-ordinates you have to the Base

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

…friends…you must go your own way…may accompany us, but must fly separately…come…I will teach you the song…

The locusts, en masse, disengaged, and to the crew’s surprise had no trouble keeping up with ‘Yelle as she cavorted across the Chiron sky.

‘Yelle accelerated, and the swarm kept pace, even taking the appearance of the sweptwing craft.

Then ‘Yelle flexed her wings, producing enormous drag, and decelerating almost to a hover, before swooping upwards again.

The locusts followed the maneuver to the letter.

Suddenly Ps’saat disturbed the fun they were having.

“Targets,” he breathed, as he picked up the resonance signatures of two craft on his instruments. “On an intercept course from one of Planet’s bases.”

They readied for battle.

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

“They’re closing in now,” said Rajhas, eyeing the command consoles at UN Health Authority.

They’d picked up the orbital insertion a few minutes earlier and scrambled two of their four needlejets at the base.

“Who’s up?” asked Tamra, his superior.

“Sharriff and Nathoo – callsigns Eagle One and Two. I’ll patch them in.” He flicked the toggles on the master commlink. The Pilots voices filled the command room.

“Cover me Tad, I’m going in – she’s slowing for some reason.”

“Careful One, she seems to be breaking up….the outer skin is peeling…Holy Prophet, she’s …what..she’s cloning herself?”

“Discharging something more likely – some form of defense? Tad, you take the diversion, I’ll go after the alien craft.”

“K”

“Arming Shard missiles. What the… Threat alert is lit – I’m painted.

“Tad, Tad, come in Tad. TAD…Control, Eagle Two is acting strange…TAD you’re targeting me…you ****head, Tad, you’ve launched…..….Ejecting…”

Tamra stared in disbelief over Rajhas shoulder at the monitors as the grim picture played out. Eagle Two had detoured to take out whatever it was that the alien craft had jettisoned, had approached, then had inexplicable turned on his own leader and fired his chaos weaponry. Now the tiny blip of Sharriff’s escape pod could be tracked as it parachuted to Planet’s surface.

Then they watched in dismay as the alien craft closed in on Eagle Two.

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

“You felt it too?” Broc asked his crewmate.

“Assuredly,” altered Ps’saat. “I think though that ‘Yelle protected us somewhat.”

…affirmative…the psionic strength of the locusts was immense – but dispersed – they are immature and cannot yet harness and focus their power…I cradled it and redirected it to the attacker as I have experienced you do with the resonance waves – it succeeded, but some leaked through….now we will hunt the survivor and destroy it?…

“Yes,” resonated Broc. “Our space tactics may not work in this atmosphere, so improvise.”

The Peacekeeper needlejet could be seen turning back towards the locusts as a moth to a flame.

Bronc brought ‘Yelle alsmost to a hover, as she extended her wings and like a bird inclined them against the airflow to produce immense drag, bleeding speed but offering a stable firing platform.

Ps’saat was targeting, and acquired the resonance signature of the needlejet easily. He toggled the string disrupter cannon, and altered to Bronc “At your command.”

“Fire”

‘Yelle’s hull rippled as the cannon discharged.

Ahead of them the needlejet shimmered as the pulse washed over it, loosening and dismantling the molecular structure of the synthsteel skin of the aircraft and reducing the biomass of its crewman to its constituent elements before man and machine blinked out of existence in an explosion of pure energy.

“Let’s go,” resonated Broc, as he resumed control of ‘Yelle and they plotted their course for Courage, to Question down by Nessus Canyon, now clearly visible to the eye.

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

Shauna sat on the sofa on the porch nursing Ruth, with Ron standing beside her, hand on her shoulder.

“Would you look at that,” he said, as they watched the huge mottled green Gnat pass slowly overhead on its approach to the Progenitor base. “It’s as alien a craft as I’ve ever seen, almost bird-like in the way it uses its wings for control.”

Ruth was suckling contentedly at Shauna’s breast, eyes blissfully closed.

Suddenly both Ron and Shauna were aware of her in their minds, as she empathed to them:

’Yelle. Her name is ‘Yelle, and she is alive, like us. She is a bird, of sorts, bred for flight and fighting. She has nine brothers/sisters, and all will be coming to Planet. There are over 100 like her in the mothership, just outside our star system.

She wants to be my friend.

Ron looked down at Shauna.

“We’re doomed,” he said. “Mankind is doomed if the aliens have weaponry like this. They’re so far more advanced than we are. In a way I wish we were with the Axis, and not attached to Yang and his off-world friends, but we’re stuck here so we must do what we can to look after Ruth.”

You want to escape from here?

Yes sweetie. We are virtual prisoners, kept like caged animals, and with no means to get away.

I can arrange for us to escape.

How?

Take me to the Alien’s base, Courage - to Question

Shauna looked up at Ron.

“You got that too?”

He nodded.

“What do you think?”

“She’s never been wrong before.”

He looked down at the infant in his daughter’s arms, so young, so innocent, so aware. Could she get them out of this trap they were in?

“Let’s go tomorrow,” he said on impulse. “I’ll think up an excuse for Kyella to explain our journey – maybe a breakthrough on the communications equipment, or something. Pack unobtrusively, and we’ll leave at first light.

Shauna nodded.

Ruth slept contentedly.



[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited March 13, 2000).]

[Googlie]

Annika came to fetch us for the interview with Commissioner Lal.

“How is he?” I asked her, his aide of some twenty years.

“Excited, like a kid with a new toy,” she replied. “A lot hangs on how you and Patel get on, though. Do you know him well?”

“Served under him back on the old sod,” I replied. “I don’t foresee any problems.”

Stazi gripped my hand reassuringly.

Annika ushered into the boardroom attached to the Commisioner’s quarters.

Lal rose graciously to his feet at the head of the table and came round to greet me, reaching his arms out and gathering me into an embrace within his slight frame.

“Scott, good to see you again. And you haven’t changed a bit – just as I remember in New Delhi in ’48. Good God, has it really been almost 200 years?”

I laughed. “I’m afraid so, Pravin.”

He released me, and turned his charm on Anastasia.

“Aha, The resemblance is there, but only slight. You are Prokhor’s granddaughter. And talent you must have to tame Googlie like you have.” He brought Stazi’s fingers to his lips as she extended her hand for a handshake. She giggled.

“Oh, Commissioner, I’m not sure who’s taming who,” she added impishly.

Lal smiled, then became somber again.

“I was sorry to hear about your sister,” he said.

The mirth left Anastasia’s face. She nodded.

“We were close,” was all she said.

She looked shrewdly at Lal. Of course, he would know all there was to know about the Yoop resistance – the PeaceKeepers financed a large part of it.

He turned back to me, encompassing the others round the table with a sweep of his arm.

“Let me introduce you to my cabinet – some you know, some I guess will be strangers to you, but you will get to know them.”

He started with his deputy, Tazeem Chandrasekhar. I knew her vaguely by repute, and had been present holographically at a couple of meetings where she was represented.

I bowed to the lady.

“In my absence Tazeem will fulfil the civilian administration functions of government, and the Interior Mministry, Production and Health and Education will report through her. Anything our allies need from a logistics nature will be Tazeem’s responsibility.

“Patel you know, I believe,” Lal went on, indicating the General sitting at Tazeem’s left. He rose and extended his hand to me:

“Googlie, welcome. I look forward to working with you to rid Chiron of the alien menace and in corralling Yang once and for all. “

I grasped his hand and nodded in reply:

“Sweep, I too look forward to our working together.”

General Patel Gupta was well known to me, at least in our Terran days. A smallish, dapper man, he and I had battled magnificently in the 42/43 Test series Scotland against India. he was their prime batsman, coming in at the number four position, usually about the time that our skipper was tossing me the ball to try and mesmerize the middle and late order batsmen with my wrist spinners. Honors were about even between us. I had been the victim of his double century in the second test where his patented sweep shot – hence the nickname – had ruined my test averages. I’d had me revenge in the third and fourth tests, though, claiming him as a victim in three of his four at bats before he got going.

We had maintained an infrequent correspondence, even after Planetfall, and had co-operated on some Spartan-PK initiatives.

Appearances were everything, however. Clearly Patel was overdue a visit to the rejuv tanks – he looked very much like a sixty year-old General about to retire. I on the other hand was full of youthful vigor and enthusiasm. How would he take my command/co-ordination role, I wondered, as I released his hand and followed Lal’s introductions.

“Mitsu Kakani, our Chief Science Officer, and her assistant, Sarita, who commands our mindworm corps.”

I shook hands with both, trying not to stare too much at Sarita’s disfigured face. Once obviously beautiful, one half of her face now was almost repulsive as it was mottled with lesions where small mindworm tentacles were sprouting from the nodes and receptors that had been implanted to aid in communication and understanding of their ways.

“And finally, a relative newcomer to our council, Mats Sorenstam, who heads our internal security division – I believe you knew his predecessor, Jacques Cartier?”

Lal looked at me expectantly, assessing perhaps.

I kept my face impassive.

“Our paths did cross from time to time. I must confess I didn’t take to him much.”

Stazi, for her part, was staring straight ahead, her face betraying no emotion, disinterest almost.

Sorenstam was standing before me, his hand outstretched. I took it in mine.

“You were visiting with us on some R & R around the time of my predecessor’s death,’ he said. “And you disappeared rather abruptly from us and from planetary life for a time thereafter as best as we can determine.”

His eyes bored into mine.

“Ah yes,” I said gazing implacably back at him. “My honeymoon. Had an accident on a mountain climb. Had to be medivaced out. Don’t remember much of it, I’m afraid.”

I released his hand and turned back to Lal.

“You must be excited, Pravin. Mwabudike’s offer is very generous, and after all those years, to be reunited with Pria…” I let my voice trail off.

His eyes misted over.

“Indeed, Googlie, indeed. It will be wonderful.

“And the sooner this is formalized, the sooner I can go. Please sit down.”

He indicated a place to his right. I sat down.

“Council is called to order,” Lal said formally for the record.

The roll was taken of the cabinet.

Lal spoke:

“In recognition of the accord we have signed with The Spartan Federation, Morgan Industries, The Stepdaughters of Gaia and the Free Drones, whereby we recognize the Planetary leadership of Colonel Corazon Santiago, I welcome her envoy, Scott Allardyce, to UN Headquarters as Planetary Governor, Peacekeeper Territories.

“I pass the gavel and seal, symbol of the chairmanship of this cabinet, to you, Scott Allardyce, and in my absence for the six weeks or so for my treatment you may use the honorific ‘Commissioner’ as chair of this cabinet.”

He pushed the gavel and seal across the table to me.

“Thank you,” I said simply. “I would not be so bold as to use the title ‘Commissioner’. There is only one Commissioner in Planet’s history, and that should be reserved for you. Likewise there is only one Chairman, the vile Yang, and I would not like that association to be made. And Governor seems so pompous.

“No, I am here as the Colonel’s representative, and that is the title I shall assume. The minutes can refer to me as Representative Allardyce.”

I was pleased to see all round the table nodding in approval.

We were off to a good start.

[Argonaut]

(Off the Spartan Coast)

"Sir, technicians report that the weapon is ready for launch. We are prepared to commence with the test." The Hive officer waited patiently for the captain’s decision. The situation was dangerous, and the quicker they got away from Spartan territory, the better.

"Let’s get this over with and then get out of here," replied the Captain. "While we are here, we might as well have fun with this. Target Sparta Command’s Aerospace Complex. We shall not only test the Chairman’s new idea, but we shall test their air defences as well.

"Yes sir," replied the Hive officer and saw to it that the telemetry was properly adjusted.

*********************************************

(Sparta Command Aerospace Complex)

"Sergeant! I’m picking up a bogey coming in from the Northwest," reported the shocked radar operator. Unidentified aircraft were rare in the heart of Spartan territory, but this one was particularly unusual. It was literally coming from the middle of nowhere!

"That’s impossible!" retorted Sergeant Jenson. "Have you got an ID on it yet?"

"Contact confirmed as a missile with unknown warhead," replied the now worried radar operator. This was not what she was used too.

"A missile! Where the hell did that come from?" bellowed the angry Sergeant. "Where are the needlejet patrols? I want that missile shot down and shot down five minutes ago!"

"Sir, Yellow Squadron and Night Squadron are moving in, but at the speed that missile is travelling..." The radar operator gulped. "Sir, they’re not going to make it."

"Sir, I’ve got six unidentified aircraft moving onto runway three," reported the air-traffic controller.

"What do you mean unidentified aircraft! You’re telling me we have enemy aircraft on the ground!" questioned a shocked Sergeant. What the hell was happening?

"Unknown, sir. They appear to be Spartan but they’re not broadcasting any ID code," replied the nervous air traffic controller.

"Sir," interrupted the radar officer this time. "The unidentifieds are moving in to intercept the missile. They’ve got a direct angle of approach. Sir, they can take it out."

"I don’t trust it," replied the Sergeant. "I want all non-essential personnel evacuated immediately. Get as many people out of the base as possible. We still don’t know if this missile has planet busting warheads on it. I want the Colonel out of here now. "

"Sir, the Colonel’s chopper is taking off as we speak," replied the air-traffic controller.

"Sir, the unidentifieds are in range. They’re firing, but their not Shard equipped sir," reported the radar operator.

"Christ, that looks like Chaos weapons fire. Where the hell would such outdated..." suddenly the light when on in Sergeant Jenson’s head. "Bradford..." he said half under his breath as he watched the missile safely explode in a ball of fire.

*********************************************

(Off the Spartan Coast)

"Sir, the test was successful, however the missile was intercepted before it could reach its target," reported the Hive officer.

"Pity," replied the Hive Captain as his ship sped away from Spartan waters and began the long trip back to Hive territory.

"Nevertheless, the Chairman shall indeed be pleased that his idea has proven successful. We now know it is possible to launch missiles from onboard ships, greatly expanding our range. With a little tinkering, we may soon be able to launch full scale air raids on Sparta Command." The Captain turned to his fellow officers.

"Wouldn’t that be fun?"

[Argonaut]

(Spartan Punishment Sphere)

Everyday seemed like an eternity. Prokhor Zakharov and been trapped inside the Spartan Punishment Sphere for so long, that his entire life before capture was becoming nothing more than a faded memory. His years on Earth, the ill-fated voyage aboard the Unity, even his years as the leader of the University all began to blur until he was unsure what was real and what was imagined.

His life was nothing more than a continuous cycle of pain and torture. But one image remained firmly in his mind and it was his only motivation to survive, and to one day be free. The Spartans kept him alive physically, removing Zakharov from the sphere temporarily, to allow his nerves the chance to recuperate. But this one image was all that kept him alive spiritually, giving him the strength to endure the endless torture.

It was the image of a beautiful young woman, his granddaughter Anastasia. She was the only thing left to Zakharov that seemed real and the only thing he had left to live for.

Suddenly the pain stopped, and Zakharov’s body relaxed from the tense position it had become accustomed too. The intense pain of the punishment sphere was gone, but the terrible ache it left behind was ever present. The door opened and light flooded the room, hurting Zakharov’s unadjusted eyes. The Spartans had come to give him his daily nutrient injection to keep him alive.

Zakharov watched the guard approach but the light behind her revealed only her silhouette. Even with only that to guide him, he new something was out of the ordinary. She seemed hurried, anxious, unlike the other Spartan guards who normally took their time and boosted their egos by tormenting him.

"Provost," spoke the guard quietly. Zakharov was startled. It had been so long since he had heard that title, to hear it from one of his Spartan captors was shocking.

"Provost, I’ve come to set you free." The guard began to release the bonds that held him, and Zakharov could barely control the tears of joy that began to well up in his eyes. He was afraid that at any moment the guard would turn and laugh and tell him it had all been a cruel joke.

Still Zakharov could make out the face of his saviour. She succeeded in releasing him, and gently put his arm around her shoulder, leaning his old and tired frame up against her. She was young and strong, but tender in his care for him. She began to quickly lead him toward the exit, leading his protesting body away from this place of torture.

"Anastasia," Zakharov’s voice cracked and the word came out as a barely audible whisper. "Is that you?"

"The name’s Roze. Don’t worry, I’m a friend. And I’m taking you home."

[Argonaut]

Sparta Command Aerospace Complex

As William began to disembark, he could see the rover speeding toward him, no doubt carrying his next prosecutor. It had been a stupid move, but it was better than letting another enemy missile destroy more Spartan lives. He and the others were the only hope Sparta Command had to stop a potential Planet Buster attack. However, their rank did not give them permission to operate the needlejets that they had spent some much time repairing.

As the rover came to a stop just outside the hanger, William joined Brad and the others, preparing to face the storm they new was coming. Sarah put her hand on Will’s shoulder letting him now that she was willing to take her share of the blame as well. She would probably face expulsion from the Youth Corps, but her equal rank made her equally responsible for the teams actions.

Sergeant Jenson disembarked and was joined by an assistant as they made their way over to the group of expectant youths. It was clear that he was not impressed.

"I don’t know what the hell you kids think you were doing," bellowed the Sergeant, "but you are, under no circumstances, authorised to fly those planes. You are Youth Corps volunteers. Your job was to fix those planes not fly them."

"Sir they are fixed," Will offered.

"Then next time you have something to report, you tell me directly. Do not show me by doing a fly-by on an intercept course for a potentially lethal hostile," the Sergeant retorted. He took a breath, and composed himself again. Will was sure that he was about to announce that Will would be facing his second court appearance.

"You did good up there." The entire team was so shocked at the Sergeant’s sudden change, they could barely believe their ears. "For what you did I should throw you kids into a punishment sphere for a week. But you did save Sparta Command where our defences failed."

"Now, I’ve run this by the Colonel," he continued, "and she has agreed to grant you all field promotion to the rank of Private." The team was taken aback. "You are no longer Youth Corps volunteers, but full fledged Spartan troops. Congratulations, you just enlisted."

"But sir," spoke up Sarah quickly. The Sergeant gave her a stern look.

"Private Kingswell, here in Sparta we obey military protocol. You do not speak until you are given permission to speak. Is that understood."

"Sir, yes sir," she replied firmly. "Permission to speak sir."

"Granted Private."

"Sir, we’re not of age yet. It’s required that we be at least twenty-"

"I’m well aware of the requirements Private," he interrupted. "The Colonel has agreed to wave the restriction in lieu of the war-time situation, and you actions today. Now, if you’re not interested in the promotion..."

"Sir, we are interested sir," William replied promptly.

"Good. Lieutenant Sako here will be your trainer. Before you even think about going getting back in those planes, he is going to teach you everything you should know about flying a Spartan needlejet. Based on your flying today, that shouldn’t take long."

"Where did you learn to fly like that?" queried the Lieutenant.

"Flight simulators at the Rec. Centre sir" replied Sarah.

"Great," responded Sergeant Jenson gruffly. "The people who saved Sparta Command learned how from Morganite video games. The Colonel’s going to love that."

[This message has been edited by Argonaut (edited April 20, 2000).]

[Dcole78]

Baldwin sat down at his desk in his office and qued up his log. Every govenor and every millitary official above the rank of Private kept a log of his thoughts and explanations of his actions this way he was protected if they turned out to be incredibly stupid later. That at least was the theory...

So much had happened since Baldwin had last been able to make an entry into his log. He almost laughed upon reading his last entry. "To think that I actually thought I would be able to save Santiago, even with the help of that mind worm" he shuddered as he remembered Alphonso. "I wonder what he is doing now he thought" Baldwin began to type in his log entry, so much has happened he thought, Santiago has returned (or has she..could be another one of those dang actors he thought) the aliens had landed, the collective human government had quickly formed in response, he had been given this base to command (either as a reward for his actions in the field or to insure that he wouldn't interfere with Googlie's plans he wasn't sure which) entering all this into his log he got to more recent events. After he had left the submarine fleet it had taken him awhile to get used to commanding a base but he had eventually gotten into the swing of things and was finding it to actually be quite enjoyable. Pausing for a moment Baldwin then shut down his log. "That's all I really need to put in there Commander Svensgaard is just blowing some steam" When Baldwin had left a fleet Svensgaard had become the new fleet commandar. Baldwin didn't know much about him, since he had joined the fleet after Santiago's "rescue". Latley he had been complaining to Baldwin about the treatment he and his fleet had been recieving. Baldwin shook his head as he remembered how bad it had been before Svensgaard had joined up. "Naa he's just blowing some steam and making idle threats..surley he wouldn't ever consider actual revolt" Thought Baldwin to himself as he left his office and went to meet with his cabinet.