Announcement

**OldCodger** · January 28, 2000, 12:02

CHAPTER ONE - Meeting You Don't Ever Go Right

The first hundred years or so of humanity's time on Planet had certainly proven exciting. After a brief period of isolated expansion, the seven original factions started to make contact with each other. This resulted in trade, the exchange of technologies, and several "bloody nose" skirmishes as each faction attempted to gain an upper hand over all the others.

About one hundred years after humanity had landed, things started to get interesting. The interchange of ideas and trade coupled with the intermingling of populations as a result of the near constant squabbling gave birth to five more human factions. As these new factions struggled to survive and then grow, borders were redrawn and alliances were made, then broken, and then made again.

Another thirty-five or so years later, things finally got REAL interesting. That's when the Progenitors crashed onto Planet. Not only were they alien, new, and different, they really didn't seem to care too much for humans. And they really didn't like each other.

* * * * *

There is often an instant in time in which one can say "At that point in time, things began to go wrong." Of course, one can seldom see that at the precise point where things begin to go wrong. Usually, it takes the clarity of hindsight to really pinpoint that key instance in time with any accuracy. Unfortunately for the Spartans, today would be that instant in time when everything started to go wrong for them. They just didn't know it yet.

The point where things began to go wrong for the Spartans occurred on Tuesday, October seventh, mission year 2247. That's when Recon Rover 2 of Baker company, third Battalion, of the 127th Mechanized Infantry Brigade, the famous Flaming Warriors, drove into the front yard of Melvin Higgins.

Recon Rover 2 was under the command of Corporal Evelyn Teeter. Corporal Teeter had been ordered to scout a hilly region to try to find suitable passage for the Flaming Warriors. She had not been told why she was to perform this mission, but the answer was obvious. If they could find a passage through this somewhat mountainous area, the Spartans would be able to launch a massive surprise attack into the undefended underbelly of the Manifold Usurpers. The Flaming Warriors would of course spearhead the attack, supported by other Spartan units, and even some units from their allies the Morganites and the University. The surprise would be total and the victory glorious.

In addition to not being told the overall objective for her mission, Corporal Teeter had also not been told there was anyone living in the area, which is why it was just as surprising to her as it was to Melvin Higgins when her recon rover pulled into his front yard (if you could actually call it that). Corporal Teeter's rover practically burst into the small clearing where Melvin's house was, and promptly came to a stop. She unbutttoned her top hatch cover and stood up. Her gunner and driver both did likewise. All three of them stared at the unexpected scene before them.

What they saw was a run-down looking house that looked like it was in the middle of decomposing. Tar paper, or something like it, was peeling from at least three different locations on the walls. The roof was missing shingles in several places. Off to her left, Corporal Teeter could see what looked like an old unity rover, devoid of tires and several other parts and sitting on some kind of blocks. Shifting her attention back to the house, she saw that there was a large, shady porch running across almost the entire front of the house. Then she noticed that there was somebody sitting on the porch.

Sitting on the porch was what looked like at late middle-aged man-one really couldn't be certain with modern longevity treatments--in a pair of bibbed overalls and wearing what appeared to be a grass hat of some sort and no shoes. He appeared to be reading a book and had what looked like an old projectile weapon of some sort with two barrels sitting near him. The man's right cheek had a noticeable bulge in it, perhaps as the result of disease or some injury. Lying on the porch near the man was what appeared to be a canine with sad, droopy eyes and long floppy ears. The canine was the first creature to make an effort to communicate.

"Woof!"

Since this failed to elicit any kind of response, the dog decided that increased vigilance would be in order. With considerable effort, the dog raised his head off the porch and made a half-hearted attempt to bay at the strangers. The man on the porch looked at the canine and uttered the second communication. "Hush up, Beauregard.", said the man. Beauregard the Wonder Dog collapsed back onto the porch, perhaps in an effort to refresh his strength for the next time he would be called upon to Defend the Homestead. The man spit a stream of brown fluid and then looked at the Spartans.

"Howdy! I don't reckon I've seen you folks a-fore. Are y'all from around here or jest passin' through? My name's Melvin Higgins and I'm obliged to meet you."

Corporal Teeter, her gunner, and her driver all got out of the recon rover and walked toward the porch. As commander of the recon rover, it was her job to respond.

"Hello, I'm Corporal Teeter, commander of Recon Rover 2, Baker Company, Third Battalion, 127th Mechanized Infantry Brigade, Spartan Military Forces. I was not aware that anyone lived in this area."

Melvin looked at her and smiled. His teeth were badly stained, but he didn't seem to mind. "I reckon my fambly's been livin' here since not long after Planetfall" he said. "We don't meet many folks from elsewhere and mostly just keep to ourselves. I've never heard much about how any other folks made out after Planetfall. Would y'all like something cold to drink?"

Corporal Teeter looked at Melvin and decided not to smile. Instead, she decided to get down to business. "No thank you. Mr. Higgins, let me tell you why I'm here. We are scouting a road through this region in order to move a contingent of military forces to our intended objective."

Melvin Higgins looked at her somewhat blankly. "What in the world did you just say?" Corporal Teeter misunderstood his confusion for resistance. "We intend to move a lot of soldiers up this valley and through the pass near the crest of the mountain range. I doubt very seriously that you could stop us."

Melvin looked at her and chuckled.

Corporal Teeter began to get annoyed with him. She said, "You find this amusing?"

Melvin looked at her and smiled again. "No Ma'am. I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to get you all riled up. It just took me a minute to figger out what you were saying. If'n you want to run a bunch of soldiers on up the road and into the hills, I reckon that's fine by me. But I ain't the one you got to worry about. The folks on up the holler from me are the Maynards. Them's the ones you got to worry about."

Corporal Teeter was finally making progress and gathering possibly useful information. This was good. She asked, "And why do we need to worry about these Maynards?"

"The old Maynard widder ain't real becomin' towards strangers and outsiders. She ain't likely to let your soldiers cross her holler" he said.

"I see. And why should I care whether or not one widow chooses to be disagreeable?"

"The widder ain't the problem; it's them boys of hers. She's got seven of the biggest, meanest, fightenous boys you ever saw. And if that's not enough, she's got a whole passel of other kinfolks. If you all go up and try to get contentious with her, you best be prepared to deal with her boys and kin."

Corporal Teeter almost sneered at him. "We're the Spartans. We can handle them."

"It's up to you," said Melvin. "but I'd surely advise against it."

Corporal Teeter was growing weary of dealing with this yokel and decided to disengage herself and proceed with her mission, preferably gracefully. "Do you mind if we have look up this road? This looks like the fastest way for our army to get where it needs to be" she said.

"I reckon that'd be alright with me, but about a half-mile up you'll come to a small creek and ever thang on the other side of that creek is Maynard property. I'd be real cautious if I were you."

"I appreciate the warning. Does the road by any chance go near the Maynard headquarters?"

"It goes right past their house. You cain't miss it," he replied.

"Good," she said. "Perhaps we'll pay a visit to Ms. Maynard and negotiate further passage with her." She turned to her crew and said, "Let's mount up and get moving."

The Spartans returned to their rover and got in. As the driver started up the road, Teeter noticed what appeared to be a garden patch off to their right and close to the road. She looked at it, tapped her driver on the head to get his attention, pointed to the garden, and grinned. The driver understood Teeter's meaning and drove the recon rover right through the middle of the garden.

Melvin watched them leave and saw the rover plow through the middle of his tobacco patch. His expressed soured considerably and he muttered, "Bunch-a idiots. Them Maynards are gonna hurt that bunch of arrogant piss-ants".

**OldCodger** · February 1, 2000, 10:46

CHAPTER TWO - Gloom, Despair, and Agony on Me

By the time Recon Rover 2 arrived at the headquarters of the Maynards, Coporal Teeter was in an unpleasant mood. The road-if one could actually call it that-was terribly bumpy and had wound all over the place, so much so that her gunner had gotten motion sickness and threw up in the rover, and they had buried an axle when crossing the creek and were forced to dig it out manually, and Corporal Teeter had the feeling they had been watched ever since they had crossed the creek. An engineering unit would have no trouble terraforming a real road, but the recon rover had just about beat everybody's bottoms black and blue.

In short, Corporal Teeter was not in the best disposition to handle another "first contact" situation.

The suspicion that the recon rover had been under observation was further confirmed when they finally arrived at the Maynard headquarters and saw a short, skinny, gray-haired woman standing on the porch and watching them drive into the clearing by the house. She was dressed in a full length dress with a pale blue pattern on it that really highlighted her silver hair. She wore wire-rimmed spectacles and had a large bulge in her right cheek similar to the previous man they had encountered. Corporal Teeter began to suspect the region was suffering from an epidemic of some hopefully mild disease that disfigured the right cheek.

The Spartans emerged from the recon rover and looked at the woman on the porch. The woman on the porch looked at the Spartans and then spat a stream of brown fluid onto the ground. Corporal Teeter made a mental note of yet another symptom of the epidemic. Closer examination of the woman on the porch made the hair on the back of Evelyn's neck kind of stand up. This had to be the Maynard widow. There was something about this old woman that made Evelyn wary. The old woman looked…mean.

Corporal Teeter started to speak. "I'm Corporal Teeter of the.."

The woman on the porch interrupted. "I don't care who ye are. You're trespassing on my property and I want you off."

Corporal Teeter was already in a bad mood and this didn't improve it any. She took a step forward and said, "Oh really? And what if we don't want to leave? What will you do then?"

The Maynard widow looked at Evelyn for a moment, spat another brown stream and then smiled. The boys hadn't whipped anybody for three or four days now. They would be rarin' to have at it. "Me? I ain't gonna do nothing 'cept clean up the mess" she said. "On the other hand, my boys are gonna do considerable damage to you if you don't get in that contraption and get on outta here."

Evelyn had reached her limit. She swore at the Maynard widow and took a step toward her to begin to educate her in the proper respect for a non-commissioned Spartan officer. Then the front door of the house opened and out came six of the largest, hairiest, orneriest looking males Teeter had ever seen. Evelyn immediately stopped. The boys stepped off the porch and started walking toward the Spartans, balling their fists and flexing their arm muscles. Evelyn evaluated the odds and decided that they were heavily in favor of the Maynards and that perhaps a retreat to a more protected position-specifically the inside of the recon rover-would be in order. Her driver and gunner had already reached the same conclusion and were well on the way to safety before Evelyn had taken a step back. The retreat turned into a rout.

The Maynard boys started whoopin' and hollerin' and chasing after the Spartans. In spite of feeling like he was near death, the gunner beat the driver back to the rover and managed to get inside unscathed. The driver had to take an extra lap around the rover to avoid the embrace of one of the Maynard boys, and then took a sharp blow to the side of her head that loosened one of her molars before she made it to safety. Unfortunately for Evelyn, this meant she had to take two laps around the rover and avoid four Maynard boys-two had disappeared back into the house. She kicked one in the solar plexis and tried to break another one's knee. No damage was done. On the other hand, she took a shot to the ribs and narrowly missed a blow to the head and a bear hug before she made it to the safe confines of the recon rover.

The driver had started the recon rover and the gunner swung the laser around for a little payback. He managed to damage the house somewhat before somebody shot out the confinement crystal on the laser-obviously a lucky shot-rendering the weapon useless. The driver tried to run over a couple of Maynard boys, but they easily avoided the rover.

The final indignity occurred when two of the Maynards managed to stuff hog feces into the fresh air intake of the recon rover. The combined aroma of vomit and pig poop was enormously strong and made Evelyn's eyes burn and water. This would give Evelyn the nickname she would loathe for several months to come…Corporal Stinky.

* * * * *

Adjunct Over-Major Velmon O'Cyrix ("Vel" to his friends), commander of the 127th Mechanized Infantry Brigade, was a highly annoyed and rather unhappy Spartan. Usually, he was annoyed at his rank. In any other faction, the commander of a brigade would be a brigadier general. However, since Corazon Santiago was a colonel and was supreme leader of the Spartan faction and there could be no rank higher than the supreme leader's rank, Adjunct Over-Major O'Cyrix had to wear some ridiculous, made-up rank that basically made no sense. And he didn't get to be a real general. Even those useless Morganites had real generals.

As much as Vel savored his annoyance at his rank (and he really did kind of like being annoyed), he would have to postpone that little pleasure for later. Instead, he had more immediate concerns to be annoyed and unhappy about. Adjunct Over-Major Velmon O'Cyrix did not like surprises. Just ask his wife who had arranged a surprise birthday party for his 45th birthday. And especially he did not like this surprise.

The region of New Appalachia was inhabited.

The reports from several recon units clearly indicated that there were humans-at least they weren't some of those ugly aliens-living where there weren't supposed to be any humans. In particular, Adjunct Over-Major Vel was reading an After Action Report (AAR) from the commander of a recon rover assigned to scout the most likely path through New Appalachia for a surprise attack on the Manifold Usurpers. Normally, there shouldn't be an AAR for a scouting trip and an Adjunct Over-Major shouldn't be reading an AAR written by a corporal-that's why they had a chain of command. But this AAR was significant enough that it had been immediately routed up the chain of command for his attention.

From the AAR, written by a Corporal Evelyn Teeter, the recon rover had been engaged in its scouting mission, it had encountered a dwelling and one human inhabitant at a location on the edge of the region. This human had warned them that a possibly hostile faction known as the Maynards was located further up the road and that they should proceed with caution. The recon rover did in fact proceed on up the road in the hope of negotiating passage. While the crew was out of the vehicle attempting to negotiate with a representative of the Maynard faction, they were ambushed by an over-whelming infantry force of at least 30 well trained infantry and had to fight their way back to the vehicle, sustaining minor injury. Once they were back in the rover, they returned fire and managed to fight their way out of the clearing. Enemy casualty estimates were four killed and six wounded.

Adjunct Over-Major Vel was impressed. Even dividing the casualty counts by half, this was still an impressive operation. Corporal Teeter had the makings of an officer. He made a mental note to see about getting her enrolled in Officer's Candidate School.

This was really going to hose up the timetable for the attack on the Usurpers. The Spartans were already behind schedule and needed that road cleared to get to their jump-off point without detection. Santiago would have his hide tanned and mounted on the wall of her office if the Morganites and University beat the Spartans to their starting points.

Vel thought for a moment. An analysis of the data from the scouting reports indicated that the region appeared sparsely populated with no discernable organization, population centers, or a well-developed network of roads. A quick, decisive attack aimed at the Maynards would quickly clear any resistance and allow an engineering team to prepare a road so that the entire force could get into position ahead of the Morganites and University. Santiago would be impressed and maybe he would be promoted to Over-Major. It still wasn't the same as being a general, but is was better than his current silly rank.

The axis of attack was in the region controlled by the Third Battalion. It was their rover than found the Maynards and the battalion commander was the best commander in the brigade. Very well, it was settled then. The Maynards would know the wrath of the Spartans.

It was all too easy.

* * * * *

Melvin Higgins was sitting on his porch in his favorite rocking chair, chewing his favorite tobacco. Beauregard the Wonder Dog lay on the porch at his side. He knew a whole lot of somebodies was coming up the road that those Spartan people had come up (and then got back down in a big hurry). It was probably more of them Spartans. This wasn't good.

Major Susan B. Payne led her battalion into the clearing near Melvin's house. She had her driver stop and stood up in her command turret. She decided that this must be the house of the first individual that her recon rover had encountered on its original foray into the region. She thought for a moment about clearing this bunch out and decided that it was unnecessary. Their quarrel wasn't with this man and they didn't really want to get bogged down in a conflict with the other residents in the region. However, this was the best available clearing for setting up a command post for the operation. She thought she would be polite and ask.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Higgins?" she asked.

"Yep, I reckon I am. What can I do fer you?" he replied.

"I would like to borrow a little of your space for about four hours to use as a command post and field hospital for my battalion."

"I reckon if I told you 'no'; you'd jest go ahead and do it anyway, wouldn't you?" he replied.

Major Payne smiled slightly and nodded her head. "Probably," she said "but it makes things a little more pleasant to be nice about it."

"I reckon that'll be alright. Just don't wreck my tobacco patch again like you did last time, okay?"

"We'll try to be careful."

Melvin looked at the force that was assembling in his yard. This wasn't even a small part of what he heard coming up the road. He looked at Major Payne and asked, "Are you folks fixin' to tangle with them Maynards?"

"Our objective is our own business" she replied.

"Only reason I asked", he said, "is that you ain't got near enough soldiers if'n you're going after the Maynards."

"I have a full mechanized infantry battalion with over 1000 troops, plus two engineering companies" she said.

"Well," he replied, "that sounds impressive, but it still ain't enough. Y'all are going get whooped again."

"We're the Spartans. We can handle it."

* * * * *

The good folks in New Appalachia had two social values that were very near and dear to their hearts. The first was "marryin'"; the second was "having a whole passel of young 'uns". Thus, the Maynards were actually related to both the Hatfields and the McCoys. They were also related to the MacDougals, the Wilsons, the Feng-Lins, the Nwagalas, the Garcias, the Brahmaputras, and the Kalishnikovs. The Hatfields were also related to the Sombasas, the Hawthornes, the Puchinis, the Boronowskis, and the Karanopoulis family. The McCoys also were related to several other families. In fact, this was quite true for just about every family in New Appalachia, so much so that Doctor Maria Van Ishikara-who was heading a secret project at University base to map the Human Genome and was herself the recipient of a rather colorful genetic history-would have dearly loved to study the various genetic combinations of the people of New Appalachia.

In addition to marrying and breeding, the good folks of New Appalachia had two other social values that would come into play in this particular encounter. First, they had a strong sense of family. While they were prone to fuss among themselves quite frequently, the bottom line was that if an outsider messed with one of them, that was the same as messing with all of them. The second was that they liked a good fight. Thus, when the "Widder Maynard" sent word to her kinfolks that her Sacred Homestead had been violated and was about to be attacked again, naturally the kinfolks "came a-runnin'".

* * * * *

Melvin Higgins had a unique view of the battle. He never actually saw much of the fighting, but he had a clear view of the Spartan command post and just about every Spartan rover and soldier in the attack force went past his house on their way up the valley. As the attack took shape, he couldn't see any of the fighting, but he could sure enough hear plenty of it. He heard lots of rovers, banging, zapping, and several wild "Yee Haws". He watched Major Payne as she at first calmly coordinated her forces. Then he saw her become concerned and coordinate even harder. Then casualties started to trickle back down the road. Melvin didn't know much about the military arts, but it seemed to him that there were an awful lot of wounded soldiers coming back down the road. And then there was a trickle of soldiers who didn't look hurt too bad. And Major Payne was getting highly agitated, then plenty mad. Major Payne could cuss fluently in four languages. She began to do so quite profusely. The trickle of unwounded soldiers coming back down the road turned into a flood.

The Third Battalion of the 127th Mechanized Infantry Brigade, Spartan Military Forces had been routed.

* * * * *

Adjunct Over-Major Velmon O' Cyrix was livid. His large, dark eyes attempted to burn large holes in the face of Major Susan B. Payne. He wanted to reach out and strangle his best battalion commander. Instead, he mentally kissed his promotion to Over-Major goodbye.

Vel looked at Major Payne and seethed, "Tell me exactly what happened."

Major Payne stood at attention and started at the beginning. "Sir, we entered the valley on schedule and in formation as planned. After deploying my command post, field hospital, and positioning my artillery, I sent several recon squads up the valley toward the Maynard faction's headquarters. Initial reports from the recon squads indicated that the terrain was quite rough and unsuitable for using the rovers to attack, so I dismounted the infantry and formed one company into a skirmish line and the other two into a left-reverse phalanx and right-echelon flank guard. As the recon squads probed further up the valley it became quite clear that our initial intelligence reports greatly underestimated the size of the force deployed against. We were, in fact, severely outnumbered by an estimated factor of four-to-one. The terrain was filled with thick forests and fungus patches, and the enemy had intimate knowledge of the terrain and used this knowledge to continually ambush and harass my infantry columns. I attempted to suppress the enemy with artillery fire, but the valley was so crooked that it was hard to position my artillery so that they could fire effectively to hit their targets. Also, the heavy vegetation tended to absorb and localize damage so that artillery was ineffective. Finally, sir, there were several large boils of mindworms in the area. While I have no direct evidence that these mindworms were controlled by the Maynards, the mindworms did not threaten or harass them in any way, thus implying that they were acting under human control."

Vel peered intently at Major Payne. This was not good. She was an effective commander. This was not good. She had commanded her forces well. This was not good. She had done everything HE would have done. This was not good. The best passage to their jump-off point was still in the control of the Maynards. This was not good. They were falling further behind schedule. This was not good. He was going to have to tell Santiago.

This was really not good.

**OldCodger** · February 4, 2000, 11:11

CHAPTER THREE - Ain't Love the Craziest Thing?

One did not advance up the chain of command in the Spartan military forces without learning a thing or two about dealing with ones' superior officers, and especially ones' Supreme Commander-In-Chief. Even though Adjunct Over-Major O'Cyrix knew this jug-up wasn't his fault--how in Chiron could the preliminary intelligence probes miss the fact that the region was populated with a large number of hostile humans--he also knew that Colonel Santiago was going to blow a gasket when he told her what had happened.

He was going to get blamed.

However, there were ways to do this that might preserve both rank and life. Although nobody discussed it in public, everybody knew about Santiago's mid-afternoon "medical treatment"-actually it was a spray-hypo of testosterone but nobody discussed that in public either. The trick was to time the meeting in the early afternoon right before her injection. She would start getting all antsy and fidgety, and would either have him executed--which she actually did only rarely--or be in such a hurry to get her fix that she would reach a quick decision, accept his recommendation, and let him live with rank intact. It was a risky plan, but Vel knew both how to play the game and how to place the blame.

The goals of the meeting would be simple. First, to avoid loss of life and rank. Second, to get Santiago to directly negotiate with the Maynards to find some way to resolve this in a timely fashion. Santiago could be surprisingly effective when she negotiated. Besides, getting her to come to the front would further solidify his command when she personally witnessed the military problems he was facing. The Maynards were just an annoyance. The Usurpers were a very real threat. This was a time for diplomacy.

* * * * *

The meeting between Vel and Santiago went about as expected. He gave his report. She blew a gasket. She got "twitchy". He made his recommendation. She twitched harder. She accepted his recommendation. She basically threw him out so she could get her injection in privacy. He smiled to himself.

Adjunct Over-Major O'Cyrix was good at this stuff.

* * * * *

Melvin Higgins was sitting in his rocking chair on his front porch, cleaning his shotgun when a heavily armored rover pulled into his clearing. He had known they were coming; he had heard them for several minutes. They made so dang much noise that they couldn't sneak up on a dead man. And he knew it would be them Spartans. That bunch of knot-heads didn't know enough to know when to give up. They would also tear his place up again like they did the previous times they were here. Melvin Higgins was a patient and peaceable man, but he was getting real tired of the Spartans.

The rover that pulled into his clearly was a whole lot fancier than anything he had seen up to this point. First of all, it was much cleaner than the other rovers he had seen. Second, it was better armored. Third, it had an escort rover filled with rather tough looking individuals who looked like they wouldn't take any guff off'n anybody. Melvin was not stupid. This was a top-dog in the Spartans, maybe even THE top-dog.

The rovers came to a stop and the escorts--Melvin figgered 'em to be bodyguards--assumed what Melvin could only figger to be a defensive posture that allowed them to observe and cover all approaches to the rover. A door opened in the side of the fancy-lookin' rover and what Melvin took to be two spruced-up flunkies of some sort got out and moved toward the porch. A third individual got out and Melvin immediately knew he had been correct. This had to be the top-dog of the Spartans. Melvin stood up. His upbringing taught him that one always stood in the presence of a Lady of Importance, and this was definitely a lady.

The woman that emerged from the rover was clearly something special. She appeared to be quite intelligent and confident to Melvin, almost regal in the way she moved. She looked at Melvin for a moment and then smiled at him. To have somebody like her smile at him like that was more than he could stand, and he knew instantly that he was going to give her or do for her anything she asked.

The woman introduced herself. "Good morning. I am Colonel Corazon Santiago, Supreme Commander of the Spartan Military Forces. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" Adjunct Over-Major O'Cyrix-one of the "flunkies" who got out of the rover-was amazed once again. He could see that Santiago had already charmed this bumpkin into doing whatever she was going to ask him to do. This is what made her so effective at negotiations. He had heard that even CEO Morgan was wary of negotiating with the Colonel.

"Howdy, ma'am. My name is Melvin Higgins. What can I do fer you this fine morning?" Melvin was making an extra effort to be polite. He had noticed one prominent, physical feature of Corazon's that was very unusual for a woman. Since she seemed to be quite proud of this feature, he decided the polite and diplomatic thing to do would be to offer her a compliment on this feature. He did so. "Ma'am, that's a mighty fine handlebar moustache you got there. Most women-folks I know don't seem to care much for a little hair on their upper lips. It's nice to see a woman so attractive and confident that she can wear a thing like that with so much grace and dignity." The Colonel seemed pleased.

Corazon smiled at Melvin again. It time was time to focus on more important topics. "I was wondering if you could be of some assistance to me? As you know by now, Spartan military forces need access through this area in order to accomplish an objective that is rather important to all humans on this planet. As you also know, we have been resisted-quite successfully I might add-by the Maynards in getting passage to that objective. Is there any possible way that you could assist us in persuading the Maynards to grant us access through their valley? We have no quarrel with anyone in this region and simply want to get to where our forces are desperately needed. We would, of course, compensate you for your assistance."

Melvin looked at Corazon and thought for a moment. Then he answered her. "Ma'am, I don't reckon I could talk the Maynards out of a cup of water if'n they didn't want me to have it. But somebody like you would have a powerful impact on Widder Maynard if'n you got a chance to meet her. What I can do is I can send my boy Wallace up to the Maynard place and see if he can talk 'em into meetin' with you. Wallace is about the only person who ain't kin to the Maynards that they'll let come around."

Santiago thought a moment about that. This was definitely progress, but wasn't exactly what she had anticipated. However, protocol would best be served by additional conversation, plus she was somewhat curious about why this man's son was able to get along with this otherwise hostile faction. "Why is it that your son Wallace is able to get along so well with the Maynards?"

Melvin grinned slightly. "Ma'am, you've probably figgered out by now that them Maynards is a powerful fightin' bunch. But they ain't a powerful thinkin' bunch. Sometimes, folks needs more thinkin' than they do fightin'. My boy Wallace is a pretty bright young feller and he helps the Maynards whenever they need some thinkin' done. If'n anybody can talk 'em into meetin' you, my boy Wallace can do it."

"Very well," Santiago replied. "Your proposal sounds very reasonable. Please ask your son to try to arrange this meeting between the Maynard widow and me. As compensation, I will arrange to have 100 credits deposited in your bank account."

Melvin blushed a bit at that. "Shucks ma'am. There ain't no need for that. I ain't got no bank account and don't have much need fer one. I'd just be happy if'n y'all would stop tearing up my tobaccy patch every time you come through here. Let me go fetch Wallace and get him started on up the road." Melvin went into his house and everybody heard him hollerin' for Wallace.

While Melvin was gone, Santiago looked at Adjunct Over-Major O'Cyrix and narrowed her eyes a bit. Vel knew he was about to receive a small reprimand--one of things Santiago did to remind her subordinates of their proper place--and further orders. "Adjunct Over-Major O'Cyrix, have we caused undue hardship to this individual's property?" Vel replied, "I am afraid that a certain amount of damage was unavoidable. However, we did not cause the current state of decay of the house or that old unity rover over there." Santiago sneered a bit at him. "I am not an idiot, Adjunct Over-Major. I can clearly see that the condition of the house and that other junk is far older than our contact with this individual. Here is what you are going to do. You are going to bring an engineering company and a terraformer up here. You will use these resources to build a proper road to this man's property. You will terraform a larger garden patch for him, you will repair his house, and restore that unity rover to working condition. Once I have negotiated passage through this region with the Maynards and our forces are moving through this valley toward our jump-off points, you will station traffic controllers here to insure that our forces do not stray off the road and further damage this man's property. Do I make myself perfectly clear, Adjunct Over-Major?" Vel acknowledged that he understood her orders quite perfectly and looked at his subordinate and nodded. The subordinate returned to Santiago's rover to make the necessary arrangements.

While Santiago was issuing instructions to Adjunct Over-Major O'Cyrix, Melvin Higgins was issuing instructions to his son, Wallace. "Wallace, I need you to run on up to the Maynard's place and see if'n you can talk 'em into meeting with this Santiago gal. Them Spartans are plenty hacked off an' itchin' to get into a fight with somebody. I'd rather it be somebody other'n us hill folks." Wallace nodded his head, indicating that he understood his pappy's instructions. Melvin looked at his boy more intently and said, "Wallace, tell Widder Maynard to make sure that Earl is at this meetin' with this Colonel Santiago gal."

That caught Wallace by surprise. "Pa," he said, "why do you reckon Earl ought to meet this Santiago gal? Earl is the meanest one o' that whole Maynard bunch and he ain't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed."

Melvin grinned back at his boy. "Wallace, I just gotta hunch about them two. If'n them two was to meet, I reckon it just might solve a lotta different problems that a lotta different folks is having getting' along with either one of 'em."

Wallace thought a moment and then grinned back at his pa. "You know, pa, I believe you're right. I reckon it's about time that Colonel Santiago meet Earl."

* * * * *

Santiago's rover pulled into the clearing in front of the Maynard house. Melvin Higgins had been accurate in his prediction. His son, Wallace, had successfully arranged a meeting with the Maynards to negotiate passage through this valley. She had solicited other advice on dealing with the Maynards from Melvin and Wallace Higgins, though not with the intent of actually using that advice. Now, she was thinking that maybe she should at least consider what they had to say.

As Santiago emerged from the rover, she immediately noticed the Maynard widow and what must be the now-famous Maynard offspring standing behind her. From the accounts she had reviewed on the way up here, Ms. Maynard was dressed about the same as she had been at the first contact with the recon rover. It was time to be charming again.

"Good afternoon, I am Colonel Corazon Santiago, Supreme Commander of the Spartan military forces. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?"

The Maynard widder stared at her intently for a moment and then answered. "My name is Gerty Maynard. Most folks jest call me the Maynard widder. You can call me Gerty."

Santiago smiled sweetly at her. "Very well, Gerty. Who are these gentlemen standing behind you?"

The Maynard widder stood up just a little straighter. She didn't have much in the way of possessions, but she had her boys. And she was awful proud of her boys. "These here are my boys." She pointed to each one and identified each to Santiago. "This here's Billy Joe. This is Bobby Joe. This is Rutherford. This is Stevie. This is John Henry. This is Allen. And this is Earl. Earl don't come outta the hills all that often, but we thought it would be a good idear if'n he was here when you came." She did not mention that Wallace Higgins had suggested it.

When Gerty Maynard introduced Earl, Corazon's heart skipped a beat. There was something about this man that she found enormously attractive. Earl was not the tallest or largest of the Maynard boys. Earl stood about 5'11'', and weighed around 200 pounds, and every pound of it was sinew, bone, and muscle. If Earl Maynard had ever had two fat cells in his entire body, one of them had already died of loneliness. Earl was not a particularly handsome man, though he wasn't exactly hard on Santiago's eyes. Earl was, however, somewhat hairy. Wherever Earl's body emerged from the covering of his clothing, one could see massive amounts of hair. Hair emerged from his shirtsleeves along with his large, powerful wrists. Hair emerging from the neck of his shirt where Santiago could see the top of his large, powerful chest and neck. The only part of Earl Maynard that was not hairy was his face. Earl Maynard was meticulously clean-shaven, except for a rather prominent handlebar moustache. According to Melvin Higgins, if you were going to have to fight one of the Maynards boys, Earl was the one you most wanted to avoid. The others were good fighters and such, but Earl was just plain ornery.

Santiago's heart wasn't the only one that skipped a beat. Inside the massive, muscular chest of Earl Maynard, his heart also skipped a beat or two. The woman who stood in front of his ma's house was definitely some kind of gal. Obviously strong, intelligent, cultured, and downright purty, this was woman that a feller could ride the river with. Having been properly introduced by his mother, Earl decided to waste no further time in getting acquainted with this gal. He took a step forward, knocking three of his larger brothers aside like one brushes aside a single strand of fungus. Although even Earl's brothers wouldn't mess with Earl-at least not individually-three of them would take him on given the proper motivation. However, this time the three brothers sensed that this moment was somehow special and different, so the three simply bore the insult quietly.

Earl stepped to the front of the Maynards, even in front of his revered mother. Earl spoke directly to Corazon Santiago. "Good afternoon, my lady. My name is Earl Maynard, and I would be most pleased and honored if you would marry me."

Corazon Santiago was stunned. There was not a man in all of Sparta-or even among any of the other factions-who would dare speak to her like that. Without even thinking, she slapped Earl's face so hard it should have made his ears ring. Permanently. Earl just grinned at her. Then he reached toward Corazon and gave her handlebar moustache a good yank. Corazon was shocked, both by the pain and the fact that this man would actually do such a thing. She immediately tried to knee him in the groin, but he easily dodged the blow. She spun into a low flying kick and caught him solidly in the left knee, which should have wrecked his knee and tossed him on the ground like a cheap dishrag. The only noticeable impact it had was to illicit a small, slightly-painful sounding grunt. Earl boxed her right ear with his left hand. Corazon heard her own head ring and saw stars.

As soon as the festivities between Earl and Corazon broke out, the other Spartans started to move to intervene. The Maynard widder and her remaining six sons started toward the Spartans. "I reckon these two need to work this out themselves", said Gerty Maynard. "If'n you all try to get involved with them two, I reckon we'uns will have to get involved with you. I raised my boys proper. Earl won't hurt her none and besides, I reckon she could use a little exercise." Gerty Maynard's logic coupled with the size of her sons was irrefutable to the Spartans, so they stepped back to watch.

Now, Corazon was mad. She cleared her head with a shake and jumped right smack dab into the middle of Earl's chest and knocked him sprawling on the ground. The Maynard's were visibly impressed. Rutherford said, "Great leapin' toady frogs, ma! I ain't never seen anybody knock Earl down in a fight a-fore!" Earl tried to get up and take a swing at Corazon, but she was too quick and dodged it easily. She got in another kick to Earl's mid-section that knocked the wind out of him for a moment. Earl quickly got his breath back and moved to Corazon's left to embrace her in a big ol' bear hug. Corazon saw the move coming and dodged right, but Earl had anticipated that and latched on to her with both arms. Corazon felt the massive embrace and tried to spin out of it. It was too late. All she succeeded in doing was knocking his feet out from under him and both of them tumbled to the ground. At this point, things started to heat up. Large amounts of dust and cuss words flew everywhere. There was rollin', punchin', rasslin', sweatin', cussin', and a little bit of bleedin' thrown in for good measure.

It was at least fifteen minutes before the fury and energy of the combatants was finally expended. When it was all over, both Corazon and Earl were gasping for air. Corazon had several bruises, a couple of minor scrapes, and a left eye that was well on its way to being "a real shiner". Earl had several bruises and scrapes of his own and was missing at least one large handful of hair from the back of his neck. As both stood bent over, gasping, panting, and inventorying their respective injuries, Corazon stopped a moment, and then stood straight up with all her remaining dignity and said, "Yes, Earl, I will marry you."

Corazon Santiago and Earl Maynard had at last found true love.

**OldCodger** · February 9, 2000, 08:59

CHAPTER 4 - Them Weddin' Bells Are Ringin' and I Feel Rotten

If Corazon Santiago was anything, she was decisive. After what turned out to be a brief and intense-and definitely unusual-courtship, Corazon was getting married. Having met the one living being on all of Chiron with as much testosterone as she had, clearly Earl Maynard was too fine a catch to let get away. Plans were immediately made for a quick wedding.

For his part, Earl Maynard wasn't in any hurry to go anywhere. The thought of marrying Corazon Santiago was definitely the main objective of his interests as well. Even his ma was pleased. Having found a mate for her son, Gerty Maynard was fired up for a quick marryin' before this gal had a chance to change her mind.

Both Corazon and Earl shaved off their handlebar moustaches as it interfered considerably with kissing-the handlebars kept getting tangled up. Some folks speculated that it also got in the way if one of them decided to bite a hunk out of the other; but then, idle tongues will wag.

Thus, the wedding was quick, but a major affair nonetheless. Various allied faction leaders were invited. All of the prominent Spartan citizenry was invited. Lots of folks from New Appalachia put on their "Sunday Best" and came to the wedding. Many of the attendees came in a sense of utter disbelief. Nobody could quite believe that Colonel Santiago was actually getting married. Even Corazon's most fervent detractors had to admit she looked absolutely stunning in her Spartan black wedding gown. Everybody wanted to see the poor sod Santiago was going to intimidate and browbeat until he went psycho and did all sorts of crazy things to her or himself. The good folks of New Appalachia were also relieved to get shed of Earl Maynard. Earl was the smallest of the seven Maynard boys and the worst one about fightin'. None of the fine young womenfolk of New Appalachia could see how any woman could tame a feller like Earl.

After the wedding, Corazon and Earl settled into a state of domestic bliss. Contrary to everyone's expectations, there were no further bruises, scrapes, contusions, or missing patches of hair. In fact, it was a near-perfect storybook ending. Corazon and Earl doted on each other, actually made some friends, and generally transformed themselves into decent, well-behaved people. It was even announced about two months after the wedding that Corazon was expecting their first child.

Unfortunately, there were other residents of Chiron who did not have an appreciation for romance or happy endings.

* * * * *

To varying degrees, each of the factions on Chiron, both human and non-human, was a mirror of the personality and ambitions of its leader. This was especially true for the Spartans and Corazon Santiago. When the "fight" went out of Santiago, the "fight" went out of the Spartans. When the "fight" went out of the Spartans, the whole timetable and plan for the surprise attack on the Usurpers fell apart. Besides that, the Spartans were now "kin" to the folks of New Appalachia and could not just waltz through their territory anytime they wanted and drag them into a conflict that they were simply not prepared to handle.

This really hacked off the former allies of the Spartans, the University and the Morganites. In truth, they were in even worse shape than the Spartans as far as keeping their attack timetables, etc. (It was pretty common knowledge among the other human factions that both the University and the Morganites were wimps.). However, there was a third faction that was rather upset that the surprise attack on the Usurpers was not going to happen.

* * * * *

Proctor Zhakarov was very annoyed and was in the process of taking it out on his chief administrative aide. It was actually a trivial matter, certainly one that didn't deserve the current tirade, but the aide was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and got to wear the bulls-eye for Zhakarov's near-legendary anger.

After dismissing the aide, Zhakarov turned to the issue that was really bugging him. For all intents and purposes, the Spartan Federation had fallen apart. It was now apparent that there would be no attack, surprise or otherwise, on the Progenitor faction known as the Usurpers.

This bothered Zhakarov enormously. The two Progenitor factions had crash-landed on Planet several years ago. Both of them had quickly eliminated several human factions to make room for themselves. The Usurpers-Zhakarov's immediate concern-had easily eradicated Chairman Yang's Hive and Forman Domai's Free Drones. Their technology was advanced considerably beyond the University's, and the University's technology had been the best on Planet. It wasn't professional envy that motivated Zhakarov; it was the clear understanding that had the Usurpers crash-landed someplace closer to the University, it might have been Yang or Domai marveling at how quickly the University had been eliminated. Even worse, there was still time for somebody else to marvel at how quickly the University had been eradicated.

Zhakarov was also peeved that the alliance between the University, the Morganites, and the Spartans that he had worked so hard to build was now coming apart because the Spartans weren't going to hold up their end of the deal, and all because Corazon Santiago couldn't control her hormones. The alliance had been his idea from the very beginning. It had been a brilliant idea and Zhakarov hated to see one of his brilliant ideas wasted or frittered away.

Zhakarov was further annoyed because all this governmental and diplomacy hog-wash was interfering with his research. He was trying to oversee three promising lines of research and was pleased that only one of them actually involved live, human test subjects.

* * * * *

CEO Nwabudike Morgan was, at the very moment, feeling equally annoyed, and for almost the same reasons. The alliance he had worked so hard and so carefully to arrange between the Morganites, the University, and the Spartans was falling apart. Worse, it was falling apart for reasons he couldn't control or influence. All because that damnable Santiago got herself married and pregnant!

At any other time, the thought of Corazon Santiago living in a state of marital bliss and tranquility would have been very amusing. CEO Morgan didn't find it even slightly funny at the moment. The threat was still very, very real. The Usurpers were still entrenched on the largest continent on Chiron, one that he shared with Zhakarov and Santiago, and had shared with Yang and Domai before they had been eradicated. CEO Morgan also knew that had the Usurpers not been so intense on annihilating the other Progenitor faction-the one that called itself the Caretakers-then the Morganites would likely be on the list of extinct factions.

The truth is that Nwabudike Morgan did not like the Progenitors, either faction of them. First, there was no way to relate to them. CEO Morgan was found of saying "human activity is economic activity". While this saying held a large measure of truth for the human factions on Chiron, it certainly failed to apply to the Progenitors. As far as he could tell, their only purpose was to plow a bloody path across Chiron in their efforts to get at each other. Second, they refused to engage in trade. CEO Morgan was very fond of trade agreements and treaties. They were good for the economies of both factions, but especially so for his. CEO Morgan was aware of only two treaties between a human faction and a Progenitor faction, and CEO Morgan had VERY good sources. In neither case had the human faction received any economic benefit from that agreement. In both cases, the treaty had served only to further the military goals of the Progenitor faction with little benefit to the human faction.

The third reason that CEO Morgan did not like the Progenitors, and the one that really rubbed him the wrong way, was that they killed business; specifically, they killed customers. It was common knowledge-at least Nwabudike assumed it was-that CEO Morgan had never had any love for Chairman Yang and his repressive, iron-fisted, totalitarian government. CEO Morgan had actually picked a vendetta with Yang and the half-naked, tree-hugging Gaians many years ago because of their ridiculous economic policies. While that incident had proven most unfortunate-though it did convince the Morganites that they were not well suited for a military approach to problem solving-CEO Morgan had managed to pull his faction's fat out of the fire and ended up doing pretty good business with both the Hive and the Gaians. And the Hive had a lot of customers. And the Hive was rapidly producing even more customers. And they all loved Morganite products.

Even though the Hive had turned out to be such good customers, CEO Morgan had been willing to do what he could to loosen the reins of Yang's government. When Domai fomented his revolt, CEO Morgan had secretly provided much of the funding. He also secretly funded the Free Drone military and arranged a couple of alliances that insured their survival in the face of overwhelming Hive military power. This investment had paid huge dividends. The Free Drones had really started to come on strong as a customer base, but now that was gone too. When the Usurpers crash-landed, they simply, easily, and effectively consolidated the territory where they crashed and drove out or otherwise disposed of any humans that got in their way. CEO Morgan did not like losing customers, especially good customers.

It didn't take a genius to look at a map, place a dot where the Usurpers had landed, another dot where the Caretakers had landed, and draw a line between the two points. It also didn't take a PhD. In geography to see that that line ran right through the middle of Morganite territory. From Nwabudike Morgan's point of view, the conclusion was obvious. The Morganites were in serious trouble.

Even Nwabudike Morgan was impressed by the brilliant stroke of genius that caused him to come up with the idea of forming an alliance with the University and the Spartans to deal with this threat. The idea of the alliance had been his from the very beginning. In business, it was not necessary to know how to do everything. It was far more important to know who was particularly good at one thing, who was good at another, and then coordinate the joint efforts of each. This alliance was exactly the same. The University was still the best researchers on Chiron. The Spartans had the best military on Chiron. The University would do the research, the Spartans would transform the research into weapons and tactics, and the Morganites would provide funding, orchestrate the two, and make a handsome profit at the same time.

It had taken considerable effort to hammer out the alliance. Neither Zhakarov nor Santiago liked or trusted each other. Neither of them liked nor trusted Nwabudike Morgan either. However, in the final analysis, all of them liked surviving and so the alliance was born.

Except now the alliance was ruined because that damnable Santiago got herself married and pregnant!

There had to be more to this than some simple, tawdry fairy tale. Someone had to have set this up somehow. Somewhere on Chiron was a faction whose interests ran counter to the Morganites interests. Whether or not this faction was an enemy by intent was irrelevant; they were an enemy by the course of action they had chosen. Worse, CEO Morgan had no idea who that enemy was. One of his infiltrators informed him that mindworms had been seen at the Spartans recent defeat. That certainly suggested a couple of possibilities. Whoever this faction was, CEO Morgan needed to find that out rather quickly. Then he could find out what they wanted. That might provide the leverage needed to make some sort of deal or arrangement. Or expose a critical weakness that could be exploited.

CEO Morgan decided two things. First, this unknown adversary was particularly devious and clever, and knew exactly where and how to strike to ruin the Morganites efforts. Second, he needed to talk about this to his most trusted associate. He reached to his desktop and pressed the button for his secretary. "Alliana, would you please call Gayle Storm and have her drop by at her earliest convenience? Thank you."

* * * * *
The third faction that was most displeased by the collapse of the attack on the Usurpers was, surprisingly, the Usurpers themselves.

Conqueror Marr was not a particularly happy member of the Progenitor species at the moment. Actually, there may not have even been such a thing as a "happy" Progenitor. However, if the term had any relevance at all, Conqueror Marr was definitely displeased. He had summoned his military command and advisory council to discuss the reason for his current aural resonance. Everyone in the council chamber could sense the unusual harshness in his aura. He began to alter.

"Problems: two encountered. Level of Annoyance: high and low."

That explained the harshness. There were two problems being discussed. One was very annoying, the other mildly annoying. They respectfully waited for him to continue.

"Problem: low annoyance. Hill region: inhabited. Species: human. Information: not given. Result: surprise. Emotion: displeasure. Explanation: required."

There was a visible shock in the aura of each of the other Progenitors in the council chamber. Humans inhabited the hilly region to the south. Conqueror Marr was displeased that he was not informed of this and wanted an immediate explanation as to why this could occur without him knowing about it. Many of the council members attempted to feel the aura of the Minister of Intelligence since he was the one who would be required to provide the explanation. Those who did sensed a thin veil of calm attempting-rather poorly-to mask a mixture of surprise and raw fear. Even before they were forced to crash-land on this sorry planet, the Minister of Intelligence had done little to cover himself with glory. It was rumored that he had missed the obvious signs of the pending conflict with the Caretakers and completely missed the signs of their coming surprise attack. It was only their rapid response and somewhat superior training and morale that allowed them to survive long enough to even crash land on this forsaken world. Conqueror Marr would not tolerate failure much longer, even from one of his own Brood-Mates.

"Explanation: deferred. Problem: high annoyance. Trap: armed. Pheromones: broadcast. Humans: provoked. Situation: altered. Spartans: NOT COMING!"

A pulse of shock resonated strongly throughout the council chambers, both in response to the stunning news and the strength with which it had been altered.

Communication with the human interlopers had been quite difficult at first due to their primitive, sonic form of communication. While Progenitors had sonic receptors-what humans would call "ears"-they did not possess the sensitivity or mental framework necessary to understanding human speech. Human writing was easier to understand once it was enhanced to the point that Progenitors could actually see it clearly-Progenitor eyes saw things differently from human eyes. The key breakthrough had actually been made by the humans. Apparently, they had discovered that Progenitors resonated and constructed a machine to do the translation between the two species. Thus, from interrogating some of the humans who had earlier inhabited this area prior to their arrival, the Usurpers discovered that the humans were divided into many groups. Each group had its own interests and tended to distrust the others. Most of the council found this difficult to comprehend. Had the humans made some effort to unite themselves, it was highly likely that they could exterminate both Progenitor factions. Oddly enough, it never occurred to these same council members to speculate about what could happen had both Progenitor factions united. It was simply unthinkable.

Analysis of the information obtained from the various humans indicated that the Spartans were the humans with the best military apparatus. This information had not been hard to obtain. Several humans openly speculated that the Spartans would damage various portions of Progenitor anatomy using a variety of techniques (Simile and metaphor were difficult concepts for the Progenitor mind to grasp.). Thus, it was no accident that the portion of Usurper territory near a particularly hilly region appeared to be poorly defended. This was intended to be a trap. They had even gone to a great deal of effort to see to it that the Spartans and their allies knew about this so-called undefended area. They had made the target as attractive as they could. There were even signs that the humans were preparing to attack.

The "undefended under-belly"-as the humans called it-was not as defenseless as it appeared. The Usurpers had a pretty good understanding of what it would take to mount an attack into this area and knew they would have plenty of time to complete their prototypes of the first needlejets to be seen in the skies of Manifold Six. The plan had been to induce the humans to attack into the undefended region, allow them to make about six days worth of moderate progress, and then unleash the new penetrators to severe their supply lines and communications. The recently completed study on the proper application of air power even had a name for this: vertical envelopment. Simply put, they were going to suck in the Spartan army, cut it off, and then they were going to kill it. They also expected that the humans would have to do considerable terraforming in the hills of New Appalachia-preparation of roads, rally points, supply dumps, etc., and the Usurpers planned to use all this fine terraforming to launch their own counterattack back into Spartan territory.

The Spartans would bring their allies, of course, but the rumor among the Usurper military hierarchy was that the University and Morganites were wimps. But the Spartans were the key. If they fell, and they would, the other two human factions would be trivial.

Only now the Spartans weren't coming.

One of the council members altered the pattern indicating the desire to "speak". She was one of the older members, even older than Conqueror Marr, and noted for her insight and wisdom. Marr responded immediately.

"Insight: requested."

"Speculation: correlation? Analysis: needed. Information: vital. Means-of-acquisition: reconnaissance."

Conqueror Marr saw the wisdom in her suggestion. There might be some correlation between the fact that there were humans where there weren't supposed to be humans and the fact that the Spartans weren't showing up for their annihilation as planned. Information would be needed to formulate a further analysis. A reconnaissance team should be sent into the area immediately to gather more information.

Conqueror Marr altered to the Minister of Military Operations.

"Reconnaissance: imperative. Target: New Appalachia. Primary goal: information. Object: humans. Secondary goal: assessment. Object: military. Tertiary goal: intimidation. Object: demoralize."

The Minister of Military Operations altered both his understanding of his assignment and his pleasure at fulfilling it.

Without knowing it, the Usurpers had just terminated their own empire.

**OldCodger** · February 11, 2000, 12:24

CHAPTER 5 - We'll All Meet Again Over Yonder

Gayle Storm, Executive Vice-President in Charge of Industrial Production, was sitting at her desk looking at production reports from the three cities that Foreman Domai had given to them right before the final collapse of his faction. Gayle was getting rather frustrated with the production output of these three cities. Free Drones were supposed to be industrious, but there was some form of residual inefficiency that was eating into production and reducing profits. She had a suspicion that the "inefficiency" was actually some form of subtle rebellion due to a certain amount of resentment the labor force had toward being allied with the Morganites. Proving it, of course, would be another matter.

Gayle was fairly tall, standing a bit under two meters or a little over six feet tall. Her weight was just a small tad heavier than she would like due to a love for things chocolate. How something like chocolate had survived a 40 year journey from earth, the break-up of the Unity, and a chaotic planet-fall was amazing to think about, but if a "creature comfort" made it all the way from earth, one could be assured the Morganites would have it. Her husband liked to think of her as "pleasingly pudgy", but was smart enough never to actually say it to her or anyone else.

Gayle had actually been one of the passengers on the Unity, but currently appeared to be in her mid-forties. Like all of the higher level Morganite executives, she followed a strict longevity regime. The current fashion for higher level executives was called "vibrant middle-aged". CEO Morgan established the trend and was currently favoring a healthy, well-shaped, mid-50's style. He said that was an age that commanded respect and admiration, without being viewed as an old geezer. The other executives took their cue from CEO Morgan and had to appear equally vibrant and healthy, but slightly younger. Personally, Gayle thought the whole thing was a colossal pain-in-the-butt-all that dieting and working out to maintain the "glow of health"-and sincerely hoped that by the next time she was due for longevity treatments, something in the early 30s would be the fashion. One could look both mature and nice in their thirties, but without all that other stuff.

She was sitting at her desk, staring at production reports for what had to be the ninth time, when there was a small tapping on her door. She knew immediately that CEO Morgan wanted to speak with her. Otherwise, her assistant would have used the intercom. Her assistant opened the door and said, "Excuse me, Ms. Storm, but CEO Morgan would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience." Her assistant was named Paula Forbes and appeared to be in her late 20s because she actually was in her late 20s. Paula had been born on Chiron twenty-eight years ago and had displayed enormous potential, which is why she was assigned as Gayle's assistant.

Gayle looked up from her reports and said, "Well, perhaps we should go see him now. I'm tired of staring at these reports and could use a break." She got up from her desk and put on her sports jacket, a fine, hunter green blend of synth-wool and fungal fiber that fit her perfectly and highlighted the color of her eyes.

Gayle and Paula left the sanctum of their office wing and went down the hall toward the territory of CEO Morgan. Gayle was one of only two executives who were allowed to occupy the same floor as Nwabudike Morgan. The other executive had recently moved to this floor as the result of one of CEO Morgan's famous reorganizations. He would not be there long. Gayle had been on this floor ever since the building had been constructed.

The two women entered the outer chambers of CEO Morgan's office complex, what they referred to as "The Outer Sanctum". Alliana had been expecting them and, after a brief exchange of pleasantries, ushered them into the smaller of CEO Morgan's two conference rooms. Gayle thought of this as "The Holy Place". Few were permitted therein. This also told her that Morgan wanted to discuss something with her in relative privacy, so she asked Paula to return to their office wing and keep an eye on things for a bit.

After Gayle had seated herself at the conference table, the door to CEO Morgan's office opened and he invited her to join him in his office, "The Most Holy Place" as Gayle thought of it. She knew something really big was up.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries and the usual courtesy of offering her something to drink, CEO Morgan got down to business.

"Gayle, have you thought much about this situation with the Spartans?"

"Not really," she replied, "Certainly not as much as I would have liked. What's on your mind about this?"

"Well, I've been thinking quite a bit about this recently, and it doesn't seem to make sense in key areas. What went wrong in New Appalachia? Who could be powerful enough to defeat the Spartans with such ease? What could possibly be done to Corazon Santiago to make her change her whole personality like that? As you can see, I have lots of questions and very few answers."

Gayle now understood her role for this meeting. Gayle had worked with CEO Morgan for several decades and knew she was his most trusted advisor. She also knew that CEO Morgan wanted her to be completely honest with him and tell him when she thought he was doing something that was going to be bad for business. Many of the other Morganite executives attempted to curry favor with the CEO by telling him what they thought he wanted to hear. While Nwabudike Morgan's ego was enormous, he was not a fool. Which is why none of those executives were here today.

However, today was not a day for the winnowing of ideas. Gayle's job today was to help her CEO shape his thinking by asking questions and being his "sounding board". They were particularly good at this, which is one of the reasons the Morganites had done so well since planet-fall.

Gayle looked at CEO Morgan and said, "Start at the beginning. Tell me what you think you know."

CEO Morgan looked at Gayle and smiled. It was nice to work with somebody who implicitly knew how to play the game the right way.

"You know that our alliance with the Spartans and the University was going particularly well. We had jointly arranged a surprise attack on the Usurpers that we believed would knock them out permanently. While things were getting a bit behind schedule, we were proceeding along quite nicely with our preparations. And trade profits were up at least fourteen percent at the same time.

"Our problems began when the Spartans were trying to scout passage through New Appalachia. Apparently they stumbled across some human inhabitants and, in typical, arrogant Spartan fashion, tried to bull their way through the region. However, in untypical Spartan fashion, they got beat like an ugly step-child and went home with their tails tucked between their legs. Then, Santiago suddenly decides to get married-did you know it was just announced that she's pregnant?-and the Spartans don't want to fight anymore."

Gayle thought for a moment and then asked, "What do we know about the inhabitants of New Appalachia?"

CEO Morgan smiled-Gayle was good at focusing his attention to the more interesting aspects of the problem. "That's an interesting question, and maybe one that we should try to answer. As far as we knew before, there weren't any inhabitants in New Appalachia. Where did these people come from? What are their alliances? Did you know they had mindworms at the battle with the Spartans? That suggests a possible alliance with either the Gaians or the Cult of Planet. Also, I've been thinking about this quite a bit, and I'm wondering if somebody used some sort of mind control probe on Santiago. Nobody has done anything like that to the head of a faction. There are only three factions who could do something like that: the Believers, the Data Angels, and us, and the Data Angels were taken out by the other Progenitor group. Had Santiago had a sudden religious conversion, I could certainly suspect the Believers, but domestic tranquility is not Miriam's style. That leaves us, and we didn't do it."

CEO Morgan thought for another brief moment and then said, "We need information. At this point, all roads lead to New Appalachia. Do we have any Deep Infiltration probe teams available?

While Gayle's job title was Executive Vice-President in Charge of Industrial Production, there were other roles she filled that were not quite so public. One of those roles was coordination of Morganite probe teams, and Morganite probe teams were among the best on Chiron.

Gayle thought for a moment and responded, "The EdgeCrusher team is available. They are particularly good at Deep Infiltration protocols."

CEO Morgan was pleased. The EdgeCrusher team had performed Deep Infiltrations on both the Data Angels and the Believers. They were the best on Chiron. "Excellent, let's brief them and send them in."

Gayle responded, "Consider it done."

After a brief moment, Gayle looked at CEO Morgan and said, "You know, Nwabudike, I just had an interesting thought. Do you suppose it's actually possible that Santiago simply met 'Mr. Right', fell in love, and then got married?"

Nwabudike Morgan and Gayle Storm looked at each other for a moment and then burst into laughter.

* * * * *

Melvin Higgins was talking to his wife, Sarah Higgins, and expressing a desire to visit her kinfolks over by Stonecoal. Sarah knew that her husband didn't get along with her kinfolks all that well, and was deeply suspicious of some ulterior motive, like fightin' or huntin'. She discounted the idea of him going boozin' or "wantin' to mess around" with any of her sisters or cousins. Melvin didn't do that kind of thing and, even Sarah had to admit, her female kinfolks were a pretty gruesome looking bunch.

Sarah Higgins was right; Melvin did have an ulterior motive for the visit. He just didn't want to share it with her because he knew it would upset her. Besides, he didn't know what to expect either. But he was kind of curious about somethin'.

Melvin went out to his newly refurbished front porch. The Spartans had really done a number on his house and property when they fixed it up. Sarah was awfully well pleased with how sturdy everything was. Melvin didn't say anything to Sarah, but he thought the Spartans had rebuilt the house strong enough to withstand some kind of attack. It seemed to be their way.

He walked over to the newly refurbished unity rover where Wallace was poking around trying to figger out how various things worked. "Wallace," he said, "I reckon it's about time we paid some of yore ma's kinfolks a visit over to Stonecoal. How about you walkin' up to the Maynard place and tell them that we'll be comin' through in our rover, and that we'd be much obliged if'n they didn't shoot at us this time. Then, maybe you oughta go get some stuff packed up. We'll probably be there for five or six days."

Wallace looked up at his pa. "You reckonin' on trying to figger out who them Spartans was all fired up to fight with?"

Melvin paused for a second at that. He hadn't told anybody why he wanted to visit the kinfolks. He looked at Wallace and said, "I never said nothin' like that. Why would you reckon a thing like that?"

"It just stands to reason", answered Wallace. "You don't much care for Ma's kinfolk. And Ma don't care for 'em most of the time neither. But they live over in the direction them Spartans was headin'. I'm a mite curious as to what them Spartans was intent on doing and you didn't just fall off the turnip rover, so I reckon you're curious too."

Inside himself, Melvin could feel a swelling of pride. Wallace was gettin' to be pretty sharp.

* * * * *

Squadron Commander Jakjo'n of the first recon company, Usurper BattleGroup Five, was attempting to relax by entering a brief period of synaptic statis. In human terms, he was trying to catch a quick nap. Anyone searching for common patterns of behavior among sentient military organizations would have seized on this as a Fundamental Truth for all soldiers: sleep whenever you can because the time will come when you won't be able to. Squadron Commander Jakjo'n had perfected this principle to a fine art, which is why his Company Commander tended to dislike and resent him. Mostly this resentment was based on envy.

Whatever resentment the Company Commander may have felt, he also knew that Squadron Commander Jakjo'n was the most suitable commander for this important assignment. The fact that giving Jakjo'n this assignment would interrupt his nap was simply added pleasure. He began to alter to the unconscious form.

"Squadron Commander Jakjo'n: Attention required. Subject: Mission assignment. Mission: reconnaissance. Target: New Appalachia. Primary goal: information. Object: humans. Secondary goal: assessment. Object: military. Tertiary goal: intimidation. Object: demoralize."

The Company Commander sensed the displeasure at being awakened that resonated through Jakjo'n's aura. This further increased the level of pleasure in his own aura. It was time to up the stakes a bit. As soon as Jakjo'n altered his fully awake condition and acknowledged the orders given, the Company Commander altered further.

"Success: Imperative. Result of sucess: Possible promotion. Failure: Prohibited. Result: Demotion. Possibly worse."

Jakjo'n understood. Success was important and might result in a promotion, which among the Usurpers also meant an increase is social stature. Failure was not an option and would result in a demotion, and possibly something worse. After the Company Commander left, Jakjo'n altered the new version of his name as the result of the elevation of social status, "Jakj'on". He liked the feel of that.

* * * * *

The Higgins family's journey to the thriving metropolis of Stonecoal, population 243 and about one-third of them dogs and other critters, was relatively uneventful. They were a little nervous when they went by the Maynard place, but no shots were fired.

As Wallace had correctly deduced, his pa was highly interested in finding out who or what the Spartans were so interested in fighting. The passage they had been scouting ran very close to Stonecoal, so a visit to his in-laws would put him in the area he figured he needed to be in. Now, if he could just avoid whippin' or shootin' any of his worthless in-laws, he might have some time to poke around and see what was up.

* * * * *

Squadron Commander Jakjo'n was leading a squad of three heavy scout rovers to the south toward the hill region he had been given orders to reconnoiter. He expected to find humans. He had no idea when or where he would encounter them or what faction they would belong to. He hoped it would be the University or the Morganites. The Usurpers already had a decent understanding of their capabilities and it would be fun to mix it up with them for a bit. They were such wimps.

* * * * *

Melvin Higgins was sitting on the porch of the house of one of his wife's uncles. She had several uncles, but this particular uncle lived closest to the area where the hills started leveling out some. Several of Sarah's kinfolks had dropped by to visit for a bit with Sarah and her husband and their kids. Folks were scattered around at various locations talking and doing various things. Several kids were off swimming in the pond, and a few were playing with pet mindworm boils.

At the moment, Melvin was close to wishing that he was dead, or at least deaf. His wife's uncle was in the middle of some long-winded, boring tale about a bird huntin' expedition he had been on several years ago and they were huntin' for grables and grables were awful plentiful back then but you sure don't see many of 'em around now-a-days anyhow he was with his cousin Wilhelm Hatfield-boy it sure is a scorcher today, ain't it?-It reminds me of the summer of 2143 when we dang near all roasted to death when the second sun was a lot closer than we were used to...

Melvin thought about just shootin' this long-winded, blithering idiot, but then there would be the funeral to tend to, another feud would break out, and things would get even uglier between him and his in-laws. Wallace was out in the yard in front of the house messing around with the unity rover again. Melvin could see that Wallace desperately wanted to be someplace where he couldn't hear the incessant droning of his long-winded great uncle. But Wallace also knew that his pa was here for a reason and, after the verbal tornado finally exhausted itself, pa would start asking questions and maybe find out something useful. And Wallace wanted to be around if he did.

Melvin and Wallace had both been so overcome by the sonic assault, that they failed to notice that it had suddenly ceased. After a few seconds of silence, both of them realized that the noise had stopped. It took a few more seconds for it to dawn on them to wonder why it had stopped. When they did, they both looked at "Uncle Windbag" and noticed that he was staring off to the north. "Uncle Windbag's" house sat on an overlook that provided an excellent view of the lowlands to the north. Off in the distance, Melvin and Wallace could see what looked like three rovers, and they were heading in the direction of "Uncle Windbag's" house. At least they looked like three rovers. They were larger than any of the rovers Melvin had seen, even bigger than the ones used by the Spartans. They also looked...weird.

Melvin turned to "Uncle Windbag" and thought for a moment. He needed information, but was fearful of unleashing the whirlwind. But he needed information rather quickly, and decided to take the chance.

"Willard, have you ever met any new folks in these parts in recent times?"

Willard thought about that for a moment. "Don't reckon I have", he responded. "It's been many a year since anybody has seen folks coming out of the north. Several years ago, we had a few families come out from that direction. Claimed they was from someplace called 'The Great Collective' and that they was refugees. They didn't stay long in these parts. They rested a day or two, and then moved on south like they was worried about somethin'."

Melvin had to interrupt. "Have you ever gone very far north of here?"

Willard frowned slightly at the interruption, and then started up another monologue. "I went north some a time or two. They ain't all that much up there. It's pretty dry and sandy, not much water. There ain't much cover for grables and hardly any place to fish. With the fishin' and huntin' being a whole lot better a whole lot closer to home, there just wasn't much reason to keep pushin' into that desert area too far. One time me and cousin Wilhelm went north into the desert and got caught plumb smack in the middle of the worst sandstorm you ever laid eyes on. We never had any idear it was comin'. That sandstorm snuck up on us and pounced on us like a mindworm on a spleen bug. It like to blinded us both with all that sand flying everywhere at what had to be close to 160 kilometers an hour..."

The deep well of Melvin's patience was exhausted. "Willard, shut up" he said.

* * * * *

Squadron Commander Jakjo'n was running careful sensor sweeps in order to detect any signs of habitation. They were just coming to the southern edge of the desert area and he did not want to miss a possible contact with humans. The sensors picked up what appeared to be a habitation and a couple of small rovers. He immediately recognized the rovers as being typical of human manufacture. The course they were headed on would have taken them past the habitation, so he ordered a course correction to take them directly to the dwelling. A wooden fence suddenly appeared in front of his rover squad, obviously a crude defensive structure. The Usurpers simply ran over it.

Back up at the house, Uncle Willard saw the three rovers run right through his fence around the north pasture. Fortunately for him, the cows weren't in the pasture that day, but it would have to be fixed before he could use it again. Uncle Willard wasn't the brightest or most ambitious of Chiron's children-so he wasn't too thrilled about having to do much in the way of work. So, he commenced to cussin', something he was rather good at. The rovers plowed through the other fence and triggered another stream of verbal invective from Uncle Willard. The rovers pulled into the clearing in front of Uncle Willard's house. They were definitely strange looking.

Several of Sarah Higgins' kinfolks who had left the area of the front porch seeking relief from Uncle Willard's long-winded diatribes started to trickle back to the front of the house to look at the three rovers. After the rovers came to a stop, a hatch opened in the side of one of the rovers and the occupants began to emerge. A collective gasp went up among the humans. They had never seen a Progenitor before.

Wallace looked at his pa and said, "I wouldn't be real surprised to find out that these fellers are what those Spartans was wantin' to fight." Melvin looked at his son and said, "I reckon I wouldn't be surprised if you were right. I ain't never seen anything like this before."

Somebody off to the left made a small, gasping noise. Somebody else asked, "What in the world is that thing?" A female voice said, "It looks like a cross between a human and a mean ol' boar hog." It was big, standing about seven feet tall, and weighing close to 300 pounds. It looked strong. It also looked ugly.

One of the three ugly aliens went back into the rover and got out some sort of contraption that stood on three legs. He carried it to a position between the Progenitors and the humans, and set it up. He then fiddled with a control panel that he actually detested because it was too small for his fingers to work effectively.

* * * * *

Having detected the presence of a human habitation, Squadron Commander Jakjo'n began to scan the area for humans. Having detected several of them, he decided this was a good place to begin gathering information and attempting to fulfill his mission objectives.

After crashing through the second, pathetic defensive structure, the three rovers pulled into the clearing near the human dwelling. Jakjo'n ordered the crews of the other two rovers to remain in their vehicles with their hatch-plates locked down. He wanted to insure that he had adequate firepower backing him up if things got hostile before he intended for them to do so.

As he emerged from his rover, he tried to examine the humans as best as he could. They were hideous looking. They were too small and too light, and they all looked alike. He wondered how such ugly creatures could tell each other apart, and why it would even be important for them to do so. Their auras were pathetically weak and featureless. They were all making that annoying, buzzing sound that they used to communicate. It sounded a lot like the sound made by those blood-sucking, bristle-flies back on the homeworld. No wonder Conqueror Marr was so intent on exterminating this species. The Universe itself would rejoice at the elimination of this tragic, genetic mistake.

One of his crewmembers began to set up the translation device that the Usurpers had "inherited" from the Free Drones. The control panel was too small and they all detested working with it. Finally the machine was set up, and Jakjo'n began to alter.

"Introduction. Species: Progenitors. Faction: Usurpers. Purpose: Completion of experiment, Manifold Six. Interference: not tolerated."

The humans looked at the translator and then looked at the Progenitor. They saw a small, visible change in the alien and then the box began to speak. They had no idea what the alien was saying.

Jakjo'n looked at the humans. The device altered nothing back at him. He began to think these humans were imbeciles. He tried again.

"Designation: humans. Understood. Question: faction. Information: most desirable. Mood: courteous. Hope: you answer."

Melvin Higgins was thoroughly confused. There were words coming out of that contraption, words he could clearly understand. He knew what these various words meant, and yet had no idea what that alien was actually saying. Wallace was standing near his pa, and hearing the same thing, but was actually starting to understand Progenitor speech.

"Pa, I think I may have an idea what that alien feller is saying. I think he just told us who he was, and then asked who we were.

Melvin Higgins looked at his boy intently and asked, "How do figger that?" Wallace replied, "I don't rightly know, but it seems to make sense. I think he just introduced himself-or herself or itself, I don't rightly know what that thing is-as a Progenitor from the Usurper faction. That must be a whole passel of aliens something like them Spartans. They're here to complete some kind of experiment and won't tolerate any interference. Then, I think he said that he understands that we're humans and wants to know what faction we belong to. And I think he's trying to be polite about it."

Melvin looked even more intently at Wallace. This kid was getting good and may have a knack for this sort of thing. Melvin said, "Maybe we should try talking back to it."

However, it was too late. Uncle Willard had already launched into another insipidly boring monologue. And the box was attempting to translate it. And having a great deal of difficulty. The syntax was all wrong and it didn't understand about half the words he was using. All that the translator was altering back to Jakjo'n was gibberish. Jakjo'n didn't understand hardly any of it, but it sounded insulting. He took a couple of steps toward the humans and flared his mandibles in a manner that clearly suggested anger or hostility. The incessant buzzing and gibberesh immediately stopped. Jakjo'n was angry and the humans realized it. He altered again.

"Humans. Ugly. Thin necks like a child's writing implement. Fit only for observation as genetic mutations. Consumers of raw flesh."

The humans stopped speaking and started straining to understand. Suddenly, Wallace Higgins burst into laughter. Melvin looked at him and asked, "What are you laughing about?"

Wallace tried to stop for a moment, and then finally succeeded. "I know what that alien feller said. Pa, we've just been called a bunch of pencil-necked geeks."

**OldCodger** · February 18, 2000, 10:37

CHAPTER 6 - I May Be Drunk, But Yore Still Ugly

Having understood the Progenitor's most recent statement, the Higgins family and Sarah Higgins' kinfolks all burst into laughter. The good folks of New Appalachia always appreciated a particularly well-worded insult, and this one had to take the cake. Jakjo'n observed that the humans were making a different--but equally annoying--kind of buzzing sound and moving their bodies in a peculiar fashion. Their auras altered slightly, but were still difficult to understand.

After the laughter died down, the humans decided to invite the Progenitors into the house to sit and visit for a bit. They were still shocked at encountering such an unexpected creature, and many of them were rather afraid of them. But manners were manners, and it was important to be polite to everyone even if they looked awfully peculiar. This sounded especially good to Melvin Higgins because he really wanted to know if the Usurpers were the reason for the Spartans wanting to fight and, if so, why. Melvin was concerned that whatever reason might have caused the Usurpers to fuss with the Spartans might apply equally to the good people of New Appalachia.

Jakjo'n turned off the translator for a moment so that he could alter instructions to his squad without it being overheard by the humans.

"Invitation: extended by humans. Accepted. Executive officer: will join. Squadron: remain. Vehicles: active. Weapons: armed. Conflict: probable."

The executive officer, Bruzle'e, would join Jakjo'n in the humans pitiful dwelling while the rest of the crews would remain in the rovers. The rovers would remain powered with their weapons armed and ready for probable conflict in the very near future.

Jakjo'n took his orders seriously. He would go into the human dwelling and gather information about them. He would make some effort to assess their military capability. He would then make a concerted effort to intimidate and demoralize the humans with a graphic demonstration of Usurper military capability.

Jakjo'n and the executive officer gathered up the translator to carry it into the house. As the humans were entering the front door, Melvin Higgins carefully arranged it so that he and Uncle Willard went through the door at about the same time. Melvin leaned over to Willard and whispered, "Willard, we need to talk to this feller and do some awful quick learnin'. If you so much as open yore mouth to say anything, I will shoot you myself."

Uncle Willard was not the least bit pleased at being talked to this way, especially at his own house, but he also recognized that he had nearly set this alien critter off, and that might not be a good idea. Sarah Higgins observed that her husband had whispered something privately to Uncle Willard. She had a pretty good idea what Melvin had said to him. Uncle Willard was a crashing bore, but he had been good to her when she was a girl. She decided to stick around to keep an eye on her husband while her husband kept an eye on Uncle Willard. Plus, she would make sure that Melvin knew she was watching.

The translator was set up inside the living room of the house--fortunately the room was large enough to accommodate several folks--and everyone settled in for a good chat. Wallace Higgins seemed to understand Progenitor speech the best, so he served as translator. Jakjo'n found the conversation difficult--the humans used far too many useless words among themselves--but the young human seemed to be able to speak more concisely like a Progenitor would speak.

Chitchat and "small talk" were excruciatingly difficult, so the conversation rather quickly got down to business. The humans were not the least bit bashful about talking about themselves, and Jakjo'n rather quickly deduced that he was going to get all the information that he needed, and then more. Human names were difficult, and he did not bother to remember individual names as he doubted that any of the wearers of those names would need them much longer.

After some rather difficult conversation--the translation was still proving time consuming and troublesome--the humans offered the two Progenitors something to eat and drink. The Progenitors found human food disgusting and repulsive and would not touch it or even look at it. Sarah Higgins and a couple of others noticed the sense of revulsion and quickly moved to put the food away. They did not want to offend their guests, even if their guests were hideous looking. Beverages were offered and a brown jug of Uncle Willard's finest homemade whiskey was brought out and passed around. The Progenitors sniffed at the jug and declined. Their sense of smell indicated that the fluid in the jug could be poisonous to their kind. Some of the humans who drank the fluid began to behave rather oddly however. Melvin Higgins was not a "drinkin' man", and declined the contents of the jug.

The humans decided to take a break for a short spell. The thinkin' and talkin' were both difficult and several of them were hungry and wanted to stray into the kitchen for a bite to eat. Somebody turned on Uncle Willard's console radio to listen to some music for a bit. The family's favorite radio show, "Grand Ol' Hee-Haw", was on and they were having the Appalachian Sweethearts on as guests.

While the folks of New Appalachia did not have much in the way of technology, they did have a few things. Uncle Willard's house--and many others--had electricity and indoor plumbing. They also had AM radios. The Mombassa twins, Irene and Nathan, had figgered out how to make an AM radio and had a small business that made and bartered for them. There were also one or two AM radio stations in New Appalachia, and they both played that peculiar form of music that the people in that region loved and enjoyed.

While everyone was taking a break, Melvin and Wallace Higgins were keeping an eye on the Progenitors. Both of them were fascinated by the aliens. Sarah Higgins was keeping an eye on Melvin and indirectly keeping an eye on the Progenitors at the same time. Wallace was the first one to notice that the Progenitors were starting to behave...strangely. He was both curious about why they were behaving a little strangely and what was causing it. He decided to observe them quietly for a while and see if he could get a handle on what was happening.

Jakjo'n learned several rather startling things about these humans. They had been here since shortly after the arrival of humans to Manifold Six--they kept calling it Chiron. They had no overall organization or government, no military to speak of, and little contact with other human factions. They had lived in relative isolation until the Spartans had shown up, and only then had they started to become aware of the existence of other human factions. Until Jakjo'n had come along, they had no idea that the Progenitors were present on Manifold Six.

Jakjo'n was also starting to feel kind of strange. His aura was feeling...light. The aura of his executive officer seemed less distinct or blurred. Bruzle'e was particularly fastidious about his aura. It was not like him to allow this to happen. Jakjo'n found this thought to be rather amusing and did something he had never, ever done before or even knew he could do; he started to giggle. Bruzle'e did not find this funny in the least, and barely managed to restrain himself from trying to kill his squadron commander.

Wallace was starting to see a pattern to what was causing the behavior of the Progenitors. The behavior itself was inexplicable, but he was starting to see the cause for it. It was the radio.

Actually it wasn't the radio itself, it was what the radio was playing. The Appalachian Sweethearts was an all-gal bluegrass band that was very popular among the folks of New Appalachia. While the singin', banjo-playin', gee-tar playin', drummin', and bass fiddle playin' were above average, the real cause of the band's popularity was the violin playing of Anna Maria Teresa Lopez.

It is said that the best violin strings are made of a substance called "catgut". Whether the strings on the violin of Anna Maria Teresa Lopez were actually made of the genuine intestines of a genuine feline was not a genuine possibility. Felines had not fared particularly well on Chiron; there was a small predator in the form of a trapdoor-building crustacean that found house cats particularly tasty and easy to catch. Even though it was not likely that her violin strings were made of feline intestines, Anna Maria Teresa Lopez could make her violin scream like a cat whose intestines had very recently been removed without the benefit of anesthesia. This was what the folks of New Appalachia called "some purty good fiddlin'". All of the really popular songs of the Appalachian Sweethearts featured at least one lengthy fiddle solo.

The fiddle playin' of Anna Maria Teresa Lopez seemed to be the cause of the strange behavior of the aliens. This was confirmed when the announcer on the radio said, "Comin' up next, a three-song set by the reignin' queens of country music, the Appalachian Sweethearts. We'll be hearin' them in 'You Broke My Heart, So I Busted Yore Jaw', followed by 'Lullaby for Mama in Prison', followed by their current number one hit, 'I May Be Drunk, But Yore Still Ugly'". Wallace saw that the behavior of the Progenitors was even stranger after each fiddle solo in the three-song set than it had been before. And it had been pretty strange before.

Jakjo'n was kind of enjoying feeling a little strange. He had never felt like this before. He had no idea what this feeling was called, but it was warm and pleasant. And everything seemed so amusing. He tried to alter the factional designation of the humans. He played with the words a bit. It was highly amusing.

"Faction Designation: Male goats who live near mounds. Goat: definition unknown. Piles of dirt and rock. Diminutive form of the name 'William'." Jakjo'n giggled some more. The executive officer looked even meaner.

It took Wallace a minute or two to figure out what Jakjo'n was saying. The speech coming out of the translator was most unusual. It was slurred. The translation was difficult but, after a bit, Wallace started to grin and chuckle. Melvin was entirely confused by what he was seeing and asked Wallace what the Progenitor was saying.

Wallace chuckled a little more and responded, "Shucks, pa. He's just having a little fun with the name we gave him. He's just thinkin' up different ways to say 'Hillbillies'." Melvin Higgins was getting confused and concerned. These aliens were behaving awfully strange. It was his wife, Sarah, who filled in the missing piece. Sarah Higgins leaned over to her husband and said, "You know, Melvin, I believe them alien fellers is drunk."

* * * * *

Gayle Storm was starting to get concerned. The EdgeCrusher probe team was 48 hours overdue. While this was not entirely unusual for a probe team, she was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

This was supposed to be a "routine" Deep Infiltration. Actually, there was no such thing as a routine Deep Infiltration. If the probe team was caught or compromised, they would probably wind up dead. But the EdgeCrusher team was particularly good at this sort of thing, and Gayle thought it highly unlikely they would be detected. Thus far, she had received a single transmission with the codeword that indicated that unexpected difficulty had been encountered, but that the mission was proceeding. That was five days ago. Since then, nothing.

The blue light on a small intercom on her desk started to flash. This was the direct line to CEO Morgan's office. This particular line used a polymorphic encryption algorithm that was believed to be unbreakable. CEO Morgan would not be using this link for something trivial. She immediately pressed the button to activate the link. "Good afternoon, CEO. How can I help you?" she asked.

The device paused briefly and responded, "Good afternoon, Gayle. I was wondering if you had heard from the EdgeCrusher probe team? It seems like they're a bit overdue." CEO Morgan's voice resonated all of his powerful undertones and nuances, even over an encrypted channel.
Gayle responded, "I'm sorry CEO, but I haven't heard anything since the last transmission five days ago."

She heard Morgan say, "Would you please let me know the minute you hear anything? I'm getting a little concerned about their mission."

"I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything."

"Thank you." CEO Morgan then disconnected the channel.

CEO Morgan did this kind of thing to Gayle all the time. She began to suspect, and not for the first time, that Nwabudike Morgan was empathic.

* * * * *

Melvin Higgins had never been much of a drinkin' man. He was tolerant when others engaged in a small nip o' the jug, but did not often partake himself. One the other hand, Sarah Higgins had been raised in a family of rather frequent partakers. She had only been around the Progenitors for a little while, but Sarah Higgins knew "drunk" when she saw it.

Sarah Higgins also had an understanding that there were different kinds of drunks. There were the "witty" drunks who found everything amusing, especially stuff they said or did. There were the "profound" drunks, whose every thought and action was full of deep, profound meaning. The "sorrowful" drunks tended to spend a lot of time in tears and remorse about their own worthless character. The "egotistical" drunks achieved a unique and profound understanding of their Own Importance as the very Center of the Universe, where their wisdom could shine forth to enlighten the lessor masses. "Invisible" drunks viewed themselves as unique observers of human foibles. However, the worst drunks were the "just plain mean" drunks.

Jakjo'n was definitely one of the "witty" drunks. He seemed to be enjoying his inebriated state and also seemed to want others to enjoy his inebriated state as well. The executive officer, however, was one of the "just plain mean" drunks. Sarah recognized that this combination was particularly volatile; a "witty and amusing" drunk always seemed to make the mean ones even meaner and nastier.

Sarah leaned over to her husband and whispered, "Melvin, this is likely to git ugly a-fore too long. That Jakjo'n feller is startin' to agitate that other alien feller. This is likely to git hostile purty soon."

Melvin whispered back to Sarah, "I know. Maybe you should mosey on out to the kitchen and round up some of yore kinfolks and get 'em armed and git the kids to the back of the south pasture where they'll be safe. Those three rovers are still sittin' out in the front yard lookin' awful trigger-happy. I need to see if I can get some more information outta these two before things turn ugly. If'n they're drunk, they'll probably talk too much."

Melvin realized that time was growing short. He pulled Wallace close to himself and whispered, "Wallace, things are just about to get ugly. We need to get some information outta these two before the fur starts flyin' and I need you to help me." Wallace nodded that he understood. Melvin continued, "We got to find out what they want and what they're plannin'. See if you can ask them nicely and find out."

Wallace looked uncomfortable, but said, "I'll try real hard, pa.". Melvin gave him a little smile and said, "I know you will, Wallace, and I know you'll do a right fine job of it."

Wallace felt proud for a moment, then focused on the task at hand. He turned to the translation device and started to speak."

"Question: purpose of visit. Disposition: polite."

Jakjo'n giggled. This human was terribly amusing and ignorant at the same time. He paused to try to answer the question.

"Primary goal: information. Objective: humans. Secondary goal: assessment. Objective: military. Tertiary goal: initimidation. Objective: demoralize. Speculation: offered. Use of information: attack. Objective: Spartans. Result: annihilation. Emotion: ecstacy. Hillbillies: small bump on highway to glory."

Wallace was somewhat shocked by the Progenitor's response. Why was it necessary to annihilate the Spartans?

"Question: reason. Object: annihilation. Target: Spartans."

Jakjo'n was giggling so hard that he felt like he was about to split a major internal organ.

"Reason: Manifold Six experiment. Humans: unwanted pests. Resolution: exterminate."

Wallace looked at his pa rather nervously. Melvin looked back at Wallace rather nervously. Wallace asked, "Did you understand what that feller just said, pa?" Melvin responded, "Yep, I reckon so. They aim to git shed of every human on Chiron. This sure ain't good."

Bruzle'e was feeling meaner and meaner by the minute, when suddenly he had a profound revelation: his commanding officer, Jakjo'n, was a Colossal Twit. Jakjo'n was consorting with detestable humans and seemed to be enjoying it, thus rendering him completely unfit for command, or continued existence. It would be a service to the Progenitor species to eliminate this mutant gene defect from the breeding pool. In fact, it would be a service to his own kind if he eliminate a few of these disgusting human creatures at the same time.

Bruzle'e hated Jakjo'n with a hatred that was almost palpable. He was amazed that Jakjo'n couldn't see it. Bruzle'e hated humans almost as much as he hated his giddy commander. He resolved to deal with both, and rather quickly.

As Bruzle'e stood up and prepared to physically annihilate his commanding officer, he realized that gravity was playing tricks on him. The world about him began to sway and spin. Gravity was apparently getting rather lazy. Bruzle'e hated gravity. He resolved that he would deal with gravity as soon as he had finished dealing with his useless commander and these revolting humans.

The sudden assumption of a vertical stance by Bruzle'e startled the humans in the living room of Uncle Willard's house. Bruzle'e attempted to hit his commander with his left claw. He missed. A human was nearby, so he took at swing at it. He missed and fell down into an uncoordinated heap of limbs. It was the funniest thing Jakjo'n had ever seen. The uncalled for mirth of Jakjo'n served only to flame Bruzle'e's indignation even further. He lunged off the floor at Jakjo'n and managed to hit Jakjo'n in the middle of the chest with a flying tackle. Jakjo'n went head-over-heels and accidentally threw Bruzle'e through the front door, reducing the screen door to various small pieces. Uncle Willard was not pleased by the destruction of his property and attempted to kick Jakjo'n in the head. Fortunately, Uncle Willard's synapses were rather well "lubricated" at this point, and all he managed to do was fall down.

The Progenitor crews in the rovers saw their executive officer come flying through the front door of the human dwelling and assumed that hostilities were breaking out as planned. Two Usurper gunners immediately got out of their rovers and ran to assist and provide cover for their executive officer. The gunner in the other rover began to fire his chaos gun to provide covering fire for the dismounted Usurpers. He managed to shoot up the house a bit, and then suddenly found his rover under fire from multiple sources. He couldn't identify the weapon type or where the fire was coming from, so he began to fire at random.

The two dismounted Usurpers reached their executive officer, who was still sprawled on the ground and having trouble getting up. His aura was awfully peculiar. Bruzle'e immediately recognized the two Progenitors as preeminently worthless members of his own species and attempted to alter several colorful, and impolite, expressions at them. Bruzle'e hated these two and added their names to the list of things he was going to deal with. Bruzle'e took a swing at one of the Usurpers that was attempting to help him up. The Progenitor didn't understand exactly what was going on, but decided to resolve this situation quickly, and did so by bending the barrel of a chaos rifle over his executive officer's head, thereby rendering Bruzle'e unconscious. As the two Progenitors started to drag their executive officer back to the safety of one of the rovers, Jackjo'n emerged from the human dwelling and started laughing so hard that he too fell down. Since Jakjo'n's aura was all weird and he was behaving in a manner that made no sense whatsoever and the Usurpers were under fire from an unknown number of assailants, the Progenitor who had bent his rifle barrel on the head of his executive officer attempted to bend it back into proper shape by applying it to the head of his commanding officer. Jackjo'n joined his executive officer in a state of blissful unconsciousness.

With their commanding officer and executive officer apparently afflicted by some unknown malady or insidious human biological weapon, the rover squadron was without adequate leadership. A consensus decision of "let's haul our mandibles outta here" was quickly reached and the three rovers attempted to vacant the area and retreat to the north.

Unfortunately for the Usurpers, while all the shootin', hollerin', and other carryin' on was happening, a couple of Uncle Willard's kids had borrowed one of their pappy's longest and heaviest tractor chains from the equipment shed and decided to conduct a scientific experiment with it. One end of the tractor chain had been surreptitiously wrapped around the rear axle of one of the Usurper's rovers. The other end had been tied around the largest oak tree in Uncle Willard's yard. The nature of this particular scientific experiment was to see what happened when the irresistible force--the Usurper's combat rover--encountered the immovable object--the large oak tree. The immovable object won the encounter and Uncle Willard's kids duly noted this result. The rear axle of the rover separated itself rather noisily from the rest of the rover and the rover came to an immediate stop. Believing their rover had been hit by an artillery shell, the crew bailed out. The other two rovers stopped, laid down more covering fire, and allowed the crew of the disabled rover to mount up in the two remaining rovers. This was made a bit more interesting due to the need to drag the still unconscious executive officer from the disabled rover to one of the functioning ones.

As the two Usurper rovers sped back toward their base, one of the Progenitors altered his rage.

"Hostilities: engaged. Result: defeat. Level: decisive. Emotion: rage. Humans: payment to be exacted."

All of the conscious Progenitors altered their agreement.

**OldCodger** · February 26, 2000, 01:37

CHAPTER 7 - I'm Just "Road Pizza" on the Highway of Your Dreams

Melvin Higgins and his wife's kinfolks watched as the remaining Usurper rovers sped away to the north. As the dust and noise began to settle, everyone seemed to be confused about just what exactly had happened. Uncle Willard was about half-crocked, but was sober enough to be upset that his house had been shot up some. Melvin Higgins knew that the good people of New Appalachia were in deep, deep trouble.

Melvin knew that it was time to bring what he knew, or thought he knew, out into the open. In the annals of human history, there are certain words that have never been the beginning of any good or pleasant conversation. It is understood on an almost instinctive level that when one hears these words, one will not enjoy what follows. The words are known as The Four Words of Doom. Melvin Higgins used these words at this time.

"We need to talk..."

Melvin started at the beginning, when the Spartans first appeared, and told them everything that had happened up to this point.

* * * * *

Gayle Storm had been hard asleep when she was awakened by an annoying and persistent vibration on her right wrist. It took a moment for her to fight through the vapors of sleep to regain consciousness.

Gayle had been worried about the EdgeCrusher probe team. They were now 72 hours overdue. Before she had gone to bed that night, she had strapped her pager to her wrist and placed it in "vibrate" mode so that she would be immediately awakened if any report was received about the wayward probe team. She had done this as a courtesy and protection to her husband. The courtesy was so the noise wouldn't awaken him; although she often thought he could sleep through a planet buster attack. The protection was professional. Gayle and her husband had been married for over 120 years--they even scheduled their longevity treatments at the same time--and had no personal secrets from each other. However, for his own protection, Gayle hid the fact that she ran the Morganite probe teams from her husband. What he didn't know, he couldn't tell.

Gayle quietly got out of bed and put on a synth-silk robe that she kept handy for the unexpected. She slipped out of the bedroom and went downstairs to her den. She turned on the light and looked at the message on her pager. It contained the text message, "The Weasel has dined". This was the code phrase that meant that the EdgeCrusher probe team had successfully completed its mission and was on the way in. She smiled to herself. It was good to know that the probe team was okay. But something still felt awfully wrong about this whole thing, and she couldn't seem to shake it off.

CEO Morgan had told her to notify him immediately when she heard something definite about the EdgeCrusher probe team. She looked at the communications console on her desk. It was the very latest technology available. She rather liked it. She spoke to it.

"Activate titanium channel alpha. Authorization blue chameleon six."

This would activate a private, encrypted link directly to CEO Morgan that very few people knew about and fewer still could access. Gayle was "titanium channel beta". The console responded, "Connecting...completed...begin conversation."

Nwabudike Morgan sounded as if he were fully awake and alert. "Good evening, Gayle. I gather that you've received something important in the last hour. What's on your mind?"

"Good evening to you, CEO. I apologize for interrupting you, but I thought you would want to know that I've heard from the EdgeCrusher probe team."

"Please, no apology is necessary. I am quite interested in hearing about the EdgeCrusher probe team. What have you heard?"

Gayle responded. "They have successfully completed their mission and will be returning to Morgan Industries within six hours. I will personally debrief the team and have a report on your desk with 48 hours."

"Under normal circumstances, that would be an appropriate plan," replied CEO Morgan. "However, I have a feeling that we may need the information much more quickly. Instead, let's have the initial debriefing done by the entire economic advisory council. I want first impressions while they're still fresh on EdgeCrusher's mind."

Gayle knew orders when she heard them and assented. "Very well. When the team arrives, I will allow them time to clean up a bit, eat something, and rest for a couple of hours. They should be ready to give their report right after lunch. That will also allow Alliana time to contact the other council members so that they can clear their calendars for this meeting."

Gayle could almost hear CEO Morgan smile over the comm-link. "Excellent. I look forward hearing their report. I'll let you go and see you right after lunch."

The link was disconnected.

Gayle knew that further attempts at sleep would be pretty much useless, so she logged onto the network node at Morgan Industries to download more reports to study. Maybe this would numb her mind for a bit. She couldn't shake the feeling that something very wrong was about to happen.

* * * * *

Unknown to both Nawabudike Morgan and Gayle Storm, something that they would regard as "very wrong" had already happened a couple of months earlier. The technical team that had installed the titanium channel communications system had been "compromised" by a Believers probe team. CEO Morgan believed he had the best probe teams on Chiron. Sister Miriam Godwinson *knew* she had the best probe teams on Chiron.

It was in the middle of the afternoon in New Jerusalem. A covert operations center on the outskirts of the city received a transmission that indicated that the titanium channel transmission in Morgan Industries had been intercepted. It would take a while to decrypt the message, but a simple, encoded e-mail message was sent to Miriam to alert her that a transmission had been intercepted.

"The monkey has puked."

This was not the sort of message one would expect the head of a faction to receive, but it told Miriam that she could expect a decrypted intercept from a tap on CEO Morgan's titanium channel within about two hours.

Because of her exceptionally well-trained and loyal probe teams, Sister Miriam Godwinson was aware of much that happened on Chiron. The Believers had infiltrated every faction they had regarded a significant, except the Cult of Planet. The Cult was a relatively new faction and would be infiltrated within the year.

Miriam had been most interested in recent events on the other side of Planet, on Chiron's largest continent. She had been aware of the planned attack on the Usurpers and was aware that for some unexplained reason, it hadn't happened. She was particularly aware of what went on in Morganite faction. Many years ago, Miriam and Nwabudike had been pact sister-pact brother for several years. This had provided Miriam with the opportunity to infiltrate Morganite society to a high degree. She was also certain that the Morganites had infiltrated the Believers, but not as thoroughly.

The "titanium channel" operation had been particularly brilliant. The communications system was actually built using technology the Believers had stolen from the Cyborgs. The encryption algorithm had been stolen from the Gaians. The system was always marketed by a local company as having been developed within the faction. This seemed to offer the greatest sense of security to its purchasers. For the Believers, it was a double benefit. They got to install a pre-compromised, allegedly secure communications system, and make a handsome profit.

The Believers had been keeping an eye on things, but also recognized that passive intelligence gathering had its limitations. There were rumors of a newly discovered faction. Miriam was thinking that it might be time to become more active in dealing with this area.

* * * * *

Conqueror Marr convened the ruling council of the Usurpers to review and discuss the information their recent reconnaissance expedition had developed. The expedition had been a major success, though the recon squad had suffered the loss of a single rover in the face of overwhelming odds. Not a bad trade considering the information that had been gained. According to the report, a number of humans had been killed or wounded. Not a bad trade, indeed.

According to the report, the region of New Appalachia was in fact populated by humans. However, the humans had no real organization, military structure, and their technology was quite primitive. The report also indicated that the humans may possess some limited biological warfare capability or mind control capability. With the proper precautions, neither of these posed a serious threat.

After some small discussion, the ruling council of the Usurpers agreed to an attack plan and set a timetable for launching the attack in about one month. The first needlejet penetrators on Manifold Six would be used to spearhead the attack. It would cut through these pathetic humans like a sharpened warrior claw through a Caretaker.

* * * * *

Squadron Commander Jakjo'n felt so awful that he was actually afraid that he would survive. His head felt like somebody had wrapped a chain around it and tightened it so hard his skull was about to pop. He had a knot the size of a planet pearl on the top of his cranium, and no idea how it got there. His executive officer looked even worse, and the knot on his head was even bigger.

According to the squadron, Jakjo'n and Bruzle'e had entered the human dwelling and remained inside for about two hours. Apparently hostilities broke out inside the dwelling and Jakjo'n and Bruzle'e were both forced to retreat, though both had also caused several casualties and had brought great glory to the squadron. The squadron had dismounted two soldiers to assist in the withdrawal, and laid down a wall of covering fire. Jakjo'n and Bruzle'e were both injured by a suicidal attack wave of trained, human infantry. As the Progenitors made it to safety, a high explosive artillery round took out the drive train of one of the rovers and the crew had to abandon the rover and mount up into the remaining two rovers. Realizing the importance of their mission and the criticality of the information they had obtained, the squadron began an orderly withdrawal to the north, and managed to inflict further heavy casualties on the humans.

Squadron Commander Jakjo'n didn't remember a thing, but his squadron had universally praised his brilliant leadership during the encounter and rumor had it that he was up for a promotion. The tale didn't sound all that correct to Jakjo'n. Jakjo'n also found it odd that his executive officer seemed to be avoiding him. Jakjo'n and Bruzle'e had gotten along well enough before.

The other thing that really puzzled Jakjo'n was a strange, but very strong, physical craving he seemed to be having. He had no idea what the craving was for. Nothing that he thought of seemed to be the proper satisfaction for this weird craving. Had Jakjo'n still been among the humans, Uncle Willard would have laughed and told Jakjo'n what the craving was for.

Uncle Willard would have said, "I reckon you want some more of the hair of the dog that bit you."

* * * * *

Sarah Higgins kinfolks, and several others who had dropped by in the last couple of days, were in a state of shock. It was a hard thing to find out that they weren't exactly alone on Planet. Heck, it was gettin' plumb crowded. It was an even harder thing to find out that there were aliens on Planet. Big aliens. Mean aliens. Lots of aliens. Aliens with obscenely powerful weapons. It was the ultimate shock to find out that the aliens were intent on eliminating all humans, including them. And they had weaponry the good folks of New Appalachia had never seen before.

The chaos gun on the damaged rover had been a major, eye-opening experience. Wallace Higgins and a couple of Uncle Willard's curious offspring had managed to figure out the firing mechanism for the gun. After nearly annihilating a couple of large boulders with just a few shots, everyone had to agree that this was an impressive weapon. The part that nobody wanted to say out loud was the fact that the folks of New Appalachia had nothing like it, and no idea how it worked. The facts were plain and simple: they were outgunned and outclassed. It was a hard thing to face under the circumstances.

Melvin Higgins was physically exhausted and emotionally spent. The telling of the tale had drawn every drop of energy out of him. His wife, Sarah, was even more shocked. She had known Melvin was hiding something from her, but she had no idea that it was the tale she had just heard. She didn't know whether to comfort her husband or pinch his head off. Maybe she would do both.

Melvin was sitting wearily on the couch in Uncle Willard's living room. He was tired and unable to think any further, but was trying to do so anyway.

"There's jest one thang I don't understand," Melvin said. "What made them alien fellers drunk? They didn't eat nothin' and they didn't drink any of Uncle Willard's finest, not that I saw anyway. So what was it that made go off on a tear like that anyway?"

Wallace was sitting on a chair across the room. He looked at his pa, smiled, and said, "I reckon I know the answer to that one, pa. It was the fiddle playing of the Appalachian Sweethearts. Even better, I have an idea on how to use it to solve our problem with them alien fellers."

**OldCodger** · March 6, 2000, 11:10

CHAPTER 8 - All This Talkin' Ain't Fixin' My Troubles

After a good night's sleep, Melvin Higgins felt a whole lot better and more alert. He was actually able to think clearly again. Telling his tale had been lifted a tremendous burden off Melvin's shoulders. He wasn't much on trying to keep secrets anyway. Unfortunately for the rest of the folks, hearing Melvin's tale had the opposite effect on them. At least, the epidemic of soggy-looking eyes from lack of sleep suggested that conclusion.

The big question now was what to do about this situation. The Usurpers were coming. They would be armed to the teeth. The folks of New Appalachia could not resist them with military means. But they had one possible weapon at their disposal. How could they use it? Would it be enough? Melvin's head was full of questions. What he needed was a few answers.

After breakfast, Melvin and his family wandered on over to the schoolhouse where folks were starting to gather. Word of recent events had spread quickly throughout New Appalachia and lots of folks were both mighty concerned and mighty curious about the Usurpers and what to do about them.

The schoolhouse was full and overflowing when Melvin, Sarah, and Wallace entered the door. There was a low rumbling of conversation that stopped almost immediately after the Higgins family entered the building. Melvin was mildly surprised at this, but didn't say anything about it. He understood the crowd's reaction as a sign of respect. He was somewhat uncomfortable with the fact that apparently he was the object of that respect.

The crowd seemed to expect Melvin to go to the head of the room. Melvin stopped for a moment and fidgeted uncomfortably, and then looked at Sarah. Sarah smiled slightly. She knew that Melvin was basically bashful, and uncomfortable with the role of leader. But she also knew that he was the most capable person for the job. Sarah said, "I reckon you'd better go on up there and talk to 'em." She smiled reassuringly and said, "Don't worry none; you'll do just fine."

Melvin tried to smile back at her and did a lousy job of it. Then, he slowly walked to the front of the room like a condemned man on the way to the hangman's noose. Which is pretty much how he felt at the moment.

Everyone waited for Melvin Higgins to speak. He cleared his throat and started to talk to them.

"I reckon by now that ever'one knows about them alien fellers, and what they're aiming to do. And I reckon ever'body knows that them aliens intend to plow right into the middle of us and do it. So, I reckon the first thing we need to do is try to figger out how to stop 'em, 'specially when we ain't got the weaponry to do so. I reckon the first thing we need is a few idears on what we might be able to do about that."

Uncle Willard was sitting about halfway back on the left-hand side of the room. He stood up and waited for a chance to speak. Melvin Higgins groaned inwardly to himself. He did not want to unleash the verbal whirlwind of his wife's uncle, but he didn't have much choice if he was going to try to be fair. He looked at Uncle Willard and said, "I reckon you got somethin' to say, Willard, so I'll be quiet and give you a chance."

Several other people who knew Uncle Willard chuckled softly, aware of the chance Melvin Higgins was taking. Uncle Willard was old enough that he didn't much care what they thought. He began to speak.

"With all due respect, Melvin, I don't reckon the first thing we oughta do is try to come up with a few idears about what to do about them alien fellers. That there is maybe the second thing we need to do. The first thing we need to do is elect us a leader. And right now, I reckon you'd be the best feller for that job, and so I nominate you."

Melvin was stunned, both by what Uncle Willard said and by the fact that he actually got straight to the point. He started to blush and muttered, "I don't reckon I'm the best person to do that. There's lot of folks a lot smarter'n me. If'n y'all think we need a leader, maybe we should hold off a day or two and let other folks say their piece."

Uncle Willard smiled at Melvin and said, "Melvin, you and everybody else in this here room know that we don't know when them alien fellers will be back. And we don't know how many of 'em are coming. We may not have time to wait for several days to hash this all out and discuss it. Besides, being a leader ain't necessarily about bein' the smartest one of the bunch. It's about knowin' what needs to be done and getting' folks organized and enthused about doin' it. I reckon you can do that well enough."

Melvin Higgins started to blush more. He had just received what amounted to high praise from Uncle Willard. Before Melvin could say anything else, a small, grey-haired figure in a blue checked dress stood up in the back of the room and began to speak.

"Most of you folks know me; I'm the Maynard widder. I've known Melvin Higgins for years and I reckon that other feller is right. We need us a leader and I reckon Melvin Higgins is the right individual for that job. So I nominate him too. And if anyone don't like it, I still got six out of my seven boys that you can take your disagreement up with, if'n you're tired of being conscious."

Nobody was inclined to disagree with Gerty Maynard. Uncle Willard called the vote. "All those in favor raise a hand." Everybody raised a hand. Melvin Higgins noticed that both Sarah and Wallace raised a hand. He was annoyed at them for doing so, but kind of proud at the same time.

Uncle Willard said "That settles it then. I'll sit down now and you can get on with your idears."

Melvin Higgins was now the leader of the Hillbillies faction--if one uses the term "faction" rather loosely.

* * * * *

Gayle Storm was rather excited as she entered the meeting chambers of the economic advisory council with her aide, Paula Forbes. Even though she was physically tired from not sleeping well the night before, the anticipation of hearing EdgeCrusher's report was like a serious jolt of caffeine that at least temporarily revitalized her. Before she sat down, Gayle scanned the room and noticed that most of the council was present and a few had brought their assistants with them.

Gayle took her customary seat near the head of the table. Paula started to take a chair away from the table and along the wall, but Gayle beckoned her to sit at the table on her left. Just as the various executives at the meeting table had their "pecking order", the aides had a similar "pecking order". It was not common at all for assistants to actually sit at the table, and several of the other executives and the table did a poor job of hiding the fact that they were miffed about Paula sitting at the table and so close to the CEO. Gayle enjoyed their annoyance. It was one of those little things she did from time to time to remind her rivals of who had the ear of CEO Morgan. Paula was too excited to even notice.

Everyone settled into their chairs. There was a general undercurrent of anticipation and excitement in the room. After a moment, CEO Morgan entered the room in his usual grand style. He had a way of doing this that quite naturally focused attention on himself. He gracefully moved to the head of the table and smiled, and then he began to speak.

"Good afternoon, everyone. This meeting has been called to debrief the leader of the EdgeCrusher probe team on their recent mission into New Appalachia. I choose this particular format because I wanted everyone to get a first hand impression of this report so we can start to develop ideas on how to best proceed next. I don't know what we're up against or how much time we have. Thus, the goals of this debriefing are two-fold. First, to gain an understanding of the strategic situation. Second, to begin to develop and outline strategies to deal with the situation. Keep in mind that the faction currently resident in New Appalachia is not necessarily the real problem. The Progenitor faction is the ultimate threat that we are facing, along with the rest of humanity on this planet. Without further comment, we will begin the debriefing."

Nwabudike Morgan nodded to his secretary, Alliana, who was standing near the door he had recently entered. She nodded back and stepped out. Another individual entered the room through the same door. It was Dmitri Anakoulis, code-name "EdgeCrusher".

EdgeCrusher was about 5'10" tall, of average weight and build, average hair color, and average appearance. In fact, he was so average looking, that he was thoroughly forgettable. Therein lay one of his strengths. First, he was skilled at the use of disguise and was capable of altering his appearance from one form of average to another. Most probe teams didn't use disguise anymore, preferring a more "high-tech" approach to their dark arts. EdgeCrusher didn't like doing the obvious. A second and equally important aspect of his "averageness" was the fact that he was thoroughly forgettable. He was not often detected when he was in the field. However, when he was observed, he was so thoroughly average looking that he was usually overlooked. And had anyone actually suspected him of anything, trying to find somebody who can be described in such average terms and could so easily change his appearance pretty much guaranteed his anonymity.

EdgeCrusher's average appearance was only one of his strengths. The other was a particularly sharp and devious mind. Had he been so inclined, Dmitri could easily have been one of the executives sitting near the head of the table at this particular occasion. His keen intellect would have easily qualified him to do so. However, EdgeCrusher enjoyed his work and was especially good at it. He could have easily been a probe team leader for any faction on Chiron, but he had chosen to work for the Morganites because that is where the rewards were.

EdgeCrusher moved to the head of the table and began his debriefing.

"As most of you are aware, about two weeks ago my team was given the assignment of performing a Deep Infiltration of a newly discovered faction residing in the region of New Appalachia. I assume that most of you are familiar with the events that lead up to this assignment and will not repeat those events here. A few of you may be aware that this infiltration took longer than expected. Reasons for this will become apparent in a moment.

"As most of you are aware, one the primary goals of a Deep Infiltration is to infiltrate the target faction's datalinks. The reason for this is obvious. This gives us intimate access to various databases and other information sources that can in turn allow us to plan strategies, note areas of strength and weakness, and develop tactical information to be used to our own advantage. It was here that we encountered our first problem."

CEO Morgan asked, "Did they have some form of sophisticated link encryption?"

EdgeCrusher smiled. He had been anticipating this question. "Actually, it was even worse. They had no datalinks at all. This is why this infiltration took so much longer. We had to develop our information the old-fashioned way; we had to get in among the people and gather it. Fortunately, this was not too difficult. The inhabitants of this region are remarkably friendly, to the point of being downright naïve. Thus, all we had to do was to ask questions. They were quite willing to provide any information we asked for. Since we didn't know at the time whether or not they had counter-intelligence probe teams of their own, we made sure to diffuse our questions among a wide segment of the population so that it would be difficult for a counter-team to put together a profile on us or the information we were gathering.

"This is why it took us so long. We had to do all the work via manual intelligence gathering. Fortunately, my team is quite skilled in this area as well as the more automated or sophisticated techniques, so this was not difficult, just time-consuming." EdgeCrusher didn't bother to mention that he was the one who taught his team these supposedly obsolete techniques. It didn't actually need to be said for CEO Morgan to get the point. He continued.

"According to the profiles we've worked up, the human inhabitants of New Appalachia seem to be what we might call the detritus of other human factions. As most of you are aware, many of the people who survived the breakup of the Unity did not wind up with the factions they intended to join. Others didn't particularly care for any of the original factions or what they stood for. Others were seen as too poor or weak or dumb to be useful. The characteristic that many of these people shared was a desire to survive coupled with a desire to be left alone. Thus, there was a small migration to the region of New Appalachia simply because it was both habitable and remote. The original inhabitants thought they would be overlooked and left alone. For over 100 years, they were correct in their belief.

"Since that time, they've grown to a rather substantial population of several thousand. And they are continuing to grow rather rapidly. Now to the essential details. First, the people of New Appalachia are not actually a faction. They have no discernable government or political structure. They operate a simple, barter-based economy. As far as I can tell, their society has none of the traditional values pursued by any of the factions we know of. Back on earth, these people would be referred to as a bunch of ignorant hillbillies. Second, they have one major population center, a city known as New Nashville. The only economic reason for the existence of New Nashville is the production of a particularly annoying and dreary form of music known as "country-western" music. This dreadful form of entertainment apparently originated back on earth and has managed to survive the long journey to Chiron.

"As far as the incident involving the Spartans, basically that was one colossal accident. Apparently the Spartans were attempting to scout an approach through that region as part of the planned surprise attack on the Usurpers, along with our forces and the forces of the University. They were not aware that the region was inhabited, nor were we or the University aware that the region was inhabited. In typical, arrogant Spartan fashion, they tried to bull their way through by brute force, and got their butts kicked."

CEO Morgan had to ask, "What caused their defeat?"

EdgeCrusher continued. "It was a major military blunder. They did not do a proper job of gathering or processing intelligence. They engaged in the standard Spartan approach of problem solving, basically submission or confrontation. The truth is they completely lost sight of the real objective--the Usurpers--and had no idea what they were up against. In reality, the casualty count was not high on either side. Also, there were mindworm boils in the area and the Spartans are still basically terrified of mindworms, even after all these years."

EdgeCrusher was referring to an incident several years ago when the Spartans decided to overrun the peace-loving Gaians, believing them to be an easy target. They were not aware that the Gaians had learned to use mindworms as military units and had been soundly and thoroughly defeated. It was the only major conflict the Spartans had ever lost, at least until recently.

CEO Morgan asked, "What about those mindworms? Were these people breeding or controlling them? Do they have an alliance with the Gaians or the Cult of Planet?" The Spartans weren't the only faction that had a healthy respect for mindworms. The Morganites had had their share of trouble with them, particularly wild mindworms.

EdgeCrusher continued, "In their own words, the mindworm boils were simply pets. Hillbilly children will make pets out just about any wild and living thing they can get their hands on. They'll even tie a string to a june-bug's leg and let it fly around in a circle. The odd thing is that the mindworms seem to enjoy the relationship as well."

"What do they do about the mindworm reproductive cycle?", asked CEO Morgan.

EdgeCrusher smiled again. "They've never had a problem with it. They've never seen the kind of attack that we've seen. I asked them about how they reproduce mindworms and they said quite simply that mindworms were here before we were and seemed to get along fine, so they speculated--or "reckoned" in their terminology--that the mindworms just did whatever it was that they did before."

CEO Morgan switched the briefing to a new topic. "What did they do to Santiago and the Spartans? I had assumed that this was some kind of mind control thing. How did they effectively 'lobotomize' the Spartans?"

EdgeCrusher frowned slightly at that question. "The answer to that question is hard to believe, but quite simple. Corazon Santiago met her 'soul-mate', fell in love with him, and then married him. It is as unbelievably simple as that."

CEO Morgan started laughing. Anyone who knew CEO Morgan knew that he enjoyed a good laugh--as long as it was as someone else's expense--and CEO Morgan knew how to laugh well.

"That is almost too asinine to believe", said CEO Morgan. "A bunch of country bumpkins have pacified the most militant human faction on Chiron and for the oldest and simplest reason in history."

All of the other executives at the table chimed in with their obligatory chuckles. EdgeCrusher wasn't chuckling with them however. Instead, he said, "I would not discount the Spartans yet. They are still an effective military force and now consider themselves pacted to the Hillbillies. Any attempt on our part to invade the area militarily will result in a conflict with the Spartans."

That silenced the laughter and got everyone's attention, particularly General Wannabee, the commander of Morganite military forces. His first thought was that the Hillbillies represented an easy target that could be used to erase at least partially the Morganite military's reputation as wimps.

CEO Morgan calmed down rather quickly. He said, "I think we have enough information to begin planning our next step. Do you have anything further to add?"

EdgeCrusher said, "Do not underestimate them. They sound like an easy target, but they are not. They are numerous and they are willing to fight. They lack modern sophistication, but they are intelligent and curious. Do not mistake a lack of opportunity for a lack of interest or motivation. To them, the world has become a very new place, but they will learn quickly."

CEO Morgan nodded and then asked, "Does anyone have any questions?"

Gayle Storm asked, "What about economic profiles? What economic structure are they using? What assets do they have? What liabilities?"

EdgeCrusher responded, "Their economic structure is simple at this point. They have no currency of their own and primarily use barter as an economic exchange. Usually, they barter in livestock or what they call 'favors', meaning I do something for you and you do something for me in exchange. Asset wise, the region of New Appalachia is capable of producing large amounts of energy and does produce some hydro-electric power now. The elevation is such that it could produce solar power with the proper technology. The region is also rich in large mineral deposits, but they do not currently have the industrial capacity to use this. Beyond the bare necessities, they lack other luxuries or 'creature comforts'. If they had the proper technology, they could become a major economic power. However, currently they are very under-developed. Did I cover everything you wanted to know?"

Gayle nodded her head and said, "Yes, thank you. That will really help."

CEO Morgan asked, "Is there anything further?" No one responded, so he said, "Very well. We will reconvene the council in two days to discuss our ideas and to develop a set of goals and a strategic approach to achieving those goals. I believe we may have a golden opportunity here if we carefully seize it. If there is nothing further, this meeting is adjourned."

As everyone stood up to chat and leave, Gayle and Paula started to make their way toward Nwabudike Morgan. Gayle had a couple of thoughts she wanted to discuss with the CEO. As the two women approached the CEO, Gayle saw him take out his communications cell and heard him say, "Connect me to my valet."

Gayle stopped a respectable distance away from CEO Morgan, far enough to allow the illusion of privacy while still placing herself close enough to eavesdrop. She had a bad feeling about this. As she listened without appearing to pay attention, she heard Nwabudike Morgan tell his valet that he was on the way home and the valet was to start picking out clothing and making it ready for the CEO to wear. As the CEO told his valet what items to prepare, Gayle Storm started to get concerned. This was not good at all. "Please, not the black sports jacket with the gold trim.", Gayle thought.

"Why?", asked Paula Forbes.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Gayle.

"You just said, 'Please, not the black sports jacket with the gold trim.' and I asked 'why?' meaning 'why not the black sports jacket with the gold trim?'", responded Paula.

Just then, both women heard CEO Morgan tell his valet, "and finally, go to the clothing closet in the back bedroom on the third floor--we haven't used anything from that closet for a while--and get the black sports jacket with the gold trim. Have it cleaned and pressed and ready to go when I arrive."

"We're doomed," said Gayle Storm.

"Why?" asked Paula Forbes.

"CEO Morgan is going shopping."

**OldCodger** · March 10, 2000, 09:20

CHAPTER 9 - All This Thinkin' is Leading Me to Drinkin'

Melvin Higgins was exhausted. He never thought that "talkin' and thinkin'" could be so dang difficult.

The meeting at the schoolhouse had been surprisingly productive, even if the organization wasn't exactly according to the rules of parliamentary procedure. After quite a bit of discussion, everyone agreed that Wallace's idea had the best shot at solving their problem with the Usurpers--them alien fellers--and everyone seemed to agree that the good folks of New Appalachia desperately needed to study the situation. Thus, Melvin Higgins, as the newly elected leader of the Hillbillies, got to make his first official appointments. He selected a "probe team" to infiltrate Usurper territory and come back with a test subject.

Of course, they didn't call it a "probe team". It was simply a bunch of guys who were supposed to go into Usurper territory and capture a Progenitor--preferably a soldier. They wanted to verify that what Wallace claimed to see--Progenitors got drunk on fiddle music--was actually true. If that turned out to be true, they wanted to figger out how to get as many Progenitors as drunk as possible in as short a time as possible.

The "probe team" consisted of three of the Maynard boys--Rutherford, John Henry, and Billy Joe--one of Uncle Willard's daughters--Marline, Wallace Higgins, and one of cousin Wilhelm's boys--Stewart. Wallace was on the team for translation purposes. Marline and Stewart had both been in the desert area north of Uncle Willard's place, so they knew the area somewhat. The Maynard boys were there for fightin' purposes. The Progenitors were bigger, heavier, and stronger-looking than humans so they figured that three Maynard boys would be a pretty fair fight if'n it came to that. Gerty Maynard was a bit miffed; she figgered two of her boys would be more than enough. She finally agreed to send a third when Wallace suggested that they might need a spare or additional muscle power if the unity rover got stuck in the sand.

Neither Melvin nor Sarah Higgins wanted to send Wallace into a potentially hostile situation. Neither of them said anything about it to each other. They both recognized that it was essential and would not think of even suggesting that someone else risk the lives of their sons or daughters while their son remained behind in relative safety. Wallace--as is typically of the average, "indestructible" 18-year-old--was ready and rarin' to go.

The team would attempt to follow the tracks of the Usurpers as they had vacated the area earlier, but did not expect to have much success. They figgered the wind would erase most of the tracks. But they figgered that the Progenitors probably headed straight back to whenever they came from. With a decent compass heading and a little luck, it might be enough to help the humans find the way there.

Ideally, they wanted to snatch that Jakjo'n feller since they knew how he would react to gettin' drunk. The witty and clever drunks were always the easiest to work with. However, there wasn't much chance of that happening; they could hardly tell one Progenitor from another.

* * * * *

Paula Forbes could hardly wait to get back to the confines of Gayle's office complex. She simply had to know what Gayle meant by that statement about being doomed. As soon as she could get the door to their office suite closed and locked, Paula turned to Gayle and asked, "What do you mean 'we're doomed'?"

Gayle paused for a moment and thought about how much she should actually say. Part of the reason Paula was her assistant was for the educational benefit of watching an effective executive in action. It might be beneficial to share some of this with Paula, both to educate and see how she thought about things. Gayle decided to tell her.

"People handle the need to think or relieve stress in different ways. Some people focus on a hobby or listen to music. Others like to exercise or work out. CEO Morgan likes to go shopping."

This statement caused Paula to giggle somewhat girlishly. Gayle understood implicitly and continued.

"I know, it's hard to conceive the idea of a man who enjoys shopping, but CEO Morgan is that rare exception that proves the rule, so to speak. From your middle school education, what were the two worst incidents in our own history?"

Paula almost didn't have to think about that question. The answer was glaringly obvious. She replied, "That's easy; the vendetta we got into with the Hive and the Gaians and then the pact we made with the Believers."

Paula was correct on both incidents, as Gayle had expected. Gayle continued. "Why were these the two worst incidents in our history?" This was not part of Paula's middle school education. She might have to think for a moment about this question.

Paula thought for a moment. "I would say that the problem with the vendetta was that it was ill-conceived to begin with. The Hive was numerous and quite powerful militarily. While they were somewhat inefficient and possessed decidedly inferior technology, they were far more numerous and effective that our leaders originally thought. The Gaians had an entirely different military paradigm, one that integrated surprisingly well with their absurd, so-called "green" economic policies. We might have been able to handle on or the other by themselves, but together their strengths were too complementary for our forces to handle. Our forces simply couldn't adjust fast enough."

Gayle looked at her aide more closely. Paula Forbes was pretty sharp. She had definite possibilities. Gayle said, "Excellent analysis. Now, tell me about the pact with the Believers."

Paula looked at her mentor, smiled nervously, and then answered.

"I hadn't been born at the time of either event, but the pact with the Believers strikes me as having been the most deceptive of the two events. Initially, I would think that the pact with the Believers would have appeared to be an ideal situation. The Believers tend to be numerous, industrious, and somewhat wealthy, but technologically backwards. This would make them an excellent customer base. However, the pact gave all of those Believer missionary teams free access to Morganite territory where they could preach their message about worshipping God and avoiding the evils of materialism and greed. I would imagine they quoted that verse about the love of money being the root of all evil quite frequently. Oddly enough, I gather that they made quite a few converts from their efforts, which means that they disrupted normal economic activity and acquired a built-in base for operating probe teams and other similar subversive activities."

Gayle Storm nodded her head in agreement. "That is a pretty accurate summary of what actually happened. It took us years to get out of that pact without another vendetta, and it did do considerable damage to our economic infrastructure. Now, let me tell you something very few people know about both of these incidents. CEO Morgan made the decision to pursue both of these ventures. CEO Morgan arrived at the decision to pursue both of these ill-fated endeavors while 'power shopping', to use his term. His instructions to his valet on what clothing to make ready sounded like he was putting together another 'power shopping' outfit. The black sports jacket with the gold trim looks absolutely fabulous on him, but he only wears it when shopping for relaxation. Given his track record for making decisions while shopping, that is why I said, 'We're doomed.'."

Paula Forbes paused for a long moment and thought about what she had just heard. After a moment, she decided to ask her own question. "Given what you've just told me, why is CEO Morgan still in charge?"

Gayle suspected this question was coming. She answered, "No executive makes perfect decisions every time. On the whole, our faction has benefited enormously from CEO Morgan's leadership. One doesn't get rid of a winner just because he lost a game or two."

Gayle neglected to mention that CEO Morgan kept a secret, very private database that he called "The Purple Files". The Purple Files contained historical accounts of various "indiscretions" or "lapses in judgement" committed by anyone whom CEO Morgan regarded as a rival or a possible rival. Had one of CEO Morgan's rivals attempted to challenge him, Nwabudike Morgan would have simply extracted one or two juicy tidbits from the appropriate Purple File and used that information to humiliate and embarrass the rival. Most of the higher level Morganite executives were aware of the existence of the Purple Files. None of them knew what was actually in the files. The fact that they existed at all was sufficient to maintain Nwabudike Morgan's grasp on power. Gayle knew what was in her Purple File, but did not believe that CEO Morgan knew that she knew.

Gayle's omission of this key piece of information to her young aide was deliberate. Paula was very intelligent and might quickly deduce that Gayle kept her own private "Purple File" database and might further deduce that Gayle had an entry in that database labeled "Paula Forbes". It was still waiting for its very first entry.

Gayle Storm saw her assistant as a future rival and was already taking steps to keep this potential adversary under proper control.

**OldCodger** · March 14, 2000, 09:32

CHAPTER 10 - Money Can't Buy Happiness, But It Can Rent a Good Time

CEO Morgan's shopping expedition lasted two days and consumed the contents of at least two of his considerable bank accounts. CEO Morgan was to shopping what Rembrandt was painting or Mozart to music. He was a master of the art. The truth is that Gayle Storm, who enjoyed a good shopping expedition herself, was rather envious of CEO Morgan's ability to shop.

While CEO Morgan's shopping expedition was a major success in its own right--it would take several days to deliver all of the stuff he bought, plus several shop and boutique owners had their cash flow enhanced in a major way--the desired goal of relaxing his mind so he could think and develop some kind of plan to deal with the people of New Appalachia had been achieved. When he returned to his office after a two-day absence, he immediately convened a meeting of the executive council to discuss his plan and perhaps refine it a little bit.

His plan was brilliant.

* * * * *

Gayle Storm was both very excited and very worried when she entered the meeting chambers of the Morganite executive council. She was so excited that she forgot to clear a spot at the meeting table for her aide, Paula Forbes, and didn't even notice the slight look of disappointment on Paula's face when Paula was forced to sit in one of the chairs that lined the walls of the room. Paula was so miffed that she cowed an aide to a lessor executive into giving up her chair so Paula could have it.

CEO Morgan was not in the room yet, and would not be present for at least another three or four minutes. He would wait until everyone had gathered, then wait a little more, and then make his usual grand entrance. It was just one of those things he did.

After everyone had settled in and a couple of additional minutes elapsed, Nwabudike Morgan made his Grand Entrance. As expected, everyone's attention was immediately focused on him. He moved swiftly and gracefully to the head of the table and remained standing. Gayle understood that this meant he was going to do his own presentation and he was quite excited about his plan. This both excited and worried her even more than she was to begin with.

CEO Morgan began to speak. "Now that we've all had a couple of days to think about options and strategies for dealing with the problem of New Appalachia, I'd like to present a few ideas I've come up with and solicit a little feedback on ways to improve them." This basically translated to "Here is the plan we are going to use. You can pick at the details if you want, but this is what we are going to do." All of the executives in the room had a fundamentally accurate understanding of what was being said.

CEO Morgan continued. "First, the fundamental goal of our strategy is to control the region of New Appalachia. The reason for this is two-fold. First, it insures that we have a buffer zone between us and the Usurpers. Second, it provides us with virtual control over the Spartans, who are pacted with the people of New Appalachia. Control of the Spartans coupled with our economic resources virtually guarantees that we will become the dominant human faction on Chiron. Another side benefit of taking control of this region is that it has enormous economic benefits. It has abundant mineral content and is well suited for the generation of energy via solar collector farms.

"The interesting question is how to accomplish this. With all due respect to our military forces, use of force is not a viable option. It would place us in direct conflict with both the Usurpers and the Spartans, as well as whatever forces the New Appalachians themselves could muster. Besides, it would be bad for business. We could use probe teams to undermine their assets and infrastructure, but they have none to undermine.

"The solution to our dilemma? We will subjugate them economically. I propose that we conduct a multi-pronged, economic attack. We will begin investing in the region to tap into its considerable resources. We will pay the residents of the region to mine these resources for us. At the same time, we will construct enough infrastructure--I'm thinking in terms of energy banks, payroll and accounting systems, et cetera--to make the region more manageable.

"Now we get to the truly brilliant part of the plan. After we've paid them to mine the resources and shipped the resources back to Morganite manufacturing centers, we will use these resources to manufacture products that we will then ship back into New Appalachia and sell directly to the residents via a line of discount department stores specializing in poor quality merchandise and shoddy service. We will call this line of discount department stores 'J-Mart'."

CEO Morgan looked directly at Gayle Storm for a moment. She understood her role very well. Gayle asked, "Two questions: why ship the materials back to Morganite territory instead of manufacturing products locally, and why the name 'J-Mart'?"

Nwabudike smiled. He knew he could count on Gayle. He continued, "First, we ship the materials back because the residents of New Appalachia do not currently possess the skills needed for working a manufacturing operation, and I see no benefit in giving them those skills. Mining is typically more labor intensive and requires less skill other than a good, strong back. They have that resource in abundance.

"As to the name of the retail store, I chose 'J-Mart' because it sounds cool. Note that since the region lacks any economic structure or even small retail outlets, we will be operating a virtual monopoly and can charge whatever we wish. Thus, we will be able to charge far more for these products than they are actually worth. This will greatly increase our profits and siphon whatever energy credits the populace manages to earn from working in our mines. There will be no competition, so this will be easy to do. Further, we will make it very easy to open a line of credit at our stores, and charge exorbitant interest rates to anyone who chooses to open one.

The one area where we will not skimp on quality is holovision sets. J-Mart stores will stock a wide variety of top-quality holovision sets that we will sell for an average price of 15 credits each."

Gayle realized that the price was far below the cost to manufacture even a cheap holovision set, and realized that CEO Morgan had some ulterior motive. Thus, she interrupted his presentation.

"Excuse me for interrupting, but the retail price for holovision sets is far below the cost to actually manufacture them. I suspect you have a very good reason for this and would very much to hear it."

CEO Morgan actually grinned. "You are correct on both counts. The cost is deliberately low to insure that everyone who wants a holovision set--or even two or three sets--can easily afford to purchase them. And they will be top-quality because we want to insure that they are operational. We will broadcast various different kinds of entertainment into the region, as we do in most other parts of Chiron. We will also include various advertisements in our programming, again as we do in most other parts of Chiron. However, I intend to formulate new programming particularly for this region. We will do shows about building new and exciting houses. We will show them all kinds of gadgets and tools that will be guaranteed to improve their lives and make them happier.

"New Appalachia is inhabited by impoverished people. They have nothing. They do not know it yet, but they need everything. The advertising and show selection will be specifically designed to create all kinds of needs for all kinds of products, all of which are sold at our J-Mart outlets. With our easy credit terms, I expect to produce a buying frenzy like a boil of rampaging mind worms.

"To give you an example of the type of programming I have in mind, we'll hire a blond woman--preferably a real doofus--give her a really bad haircut, and put her on a show that we'll call 'Melba Stewart's Gracious Living'. She will teach them how to set a proper dinner table, how to arrange flowers, how to choose curtains, et cetera, and will have her own coordinated product line at our J-Mart stores. She will create the need and then sell them the products. The poor, naïve chumps in New Appalachia will never know what hit them.

At this point, Paula Forbes committed a serious breach of protocol. She stood up and said, "You are going to make economic slaves out of these people!"

CEO Morgan smiled and said, "Of course we are. Is there any other kind?"

Paula Forbes wasn't finished yet. "Given the history of what was done to your own race, how could you do such an abominable thing to somebody else?"

It was at this point that CEO Morgan and everybody in the room realized that Paula Forbes, promising young Morganite junior executive and aide to the powerful senior executive Gayle Storm, was objecting to CEO Morgan's plan on MORAL grounds. Nothing like this had ever happened in the entire history of the Morganite faction. Gayle Storm was personally embarrassed and was determined that nothing like this would ever happen again. She immediately spun around in her chair and spoke to her soon-to-be former assistant. There was an undercurrent of menace in her voice that was seldom heard, but something that one did not want to hear again.

"I think it would be best if you left the room for a bit and returned to my office wing. I will deal with you as soon as I arrive."

Paula Forbes understood that she was about to be fired. She gulped slightly and left the room in a wave of embarrassment and humiliation.

Gayle Storm waited for about 30 seconds for strong emotions to dissipate, and then began to speak. "Personally, I think your plan is brilliant. It achieves all of our strategic goals. It makes excellent business sense; why make enemies or corpses when you can make customers instead? It will even actually improve the quality of life for the vast majority of impoverished residents of New Appalachia. However, there is one additional benefit that I can clearly see that you have not pointed out yet. That benefit is this: we can use this approach in this particular region as a proving ground for a new set of economic policies and strategies. Once we have proven these concepts in this environment, we can use them elsewhere on Chiron. Eventually, we could unite all of humanity on Chiron under the banner of one faction, our faction. A united and economically powerful humanity would be more than a match for both Progenitor factions."

Gayle Storm was a pretty good strategist herself. Her addition to the plan was solid and everyone could see that it was the right thing to do. What was good for Morgan Industries was clearly good for humanity. Gayle was also a pretty good tactician. She had managed to take a potentially humiliating moment for her, deal with the problem quickly and effectively in the presence of several other executives--both senior and junior (discipline was going to be pretty good in the lower ranks for a while), and then turn around and put the final, beautiful touch on top of a brilliant strategic plan.

For the first time since all of this had started, Gayle Storm did not have a really bad feeling about this anymore.

* * * * *

After the meeting was concluded, Gayle Storm deliberately delayed her departure to deal with her soon-to-be former aide so that she could speak privately with CEO Morgan. As soon as they were alone, she said, "CEO Morgan, I sincerely want to apologize for the behavior of my aide and assure you that it will not happen again."

CEO Morgan looked at her, his nostrils still slightly flared with irritation. "You do not have to apologize for anything. It was not your fault. However, I would like to know what you plan to do about this."

Gayle thought for a moment and then responded. "I think Paula would benefit greatly if she were to spend some time managing one or two of the production lines down in the recycling tanks. I'm thinking in particular of the solid, biological, or industrial waste lines." These were the foulest lines in the whole recycling center. One did not actually have to touch the stuff, but the stench did tend to cling to one. People who worked those particular lines were usually not the most popular citizens in the Morganite faction. This is why these lines were often used for punitive actions.

Gayle continued her response. "Under other circumstances, I would think that would be enough to insure no further repetition of that mistake in the future. However, Paula knows things that could be potentially damaging to our efforts. I will have her kept under surveillance for a while just to make sure she doesn't try to use that knowledge in any way. If I suspect that she might be up to something, I'll have her terminated immediately."

Both Nwabudike Morgan and Gayle Storm knew that Gayle was not talking about another firing.

**OldCodger** · March 18, 2000, 01:02

CHAPTER 11 - Seein' You Again Still Makes Me Sick

"This is Hickory Nut 12, calling 'Good Buddy'. Bring it on back, Good Buddy."

Melvin Higgins was nearly asleep when the call came in over the radio. It had been a long, hard month and he was nearly exhausted. Wallace was still passed out on the cot in the corner of Hillbilly Headquarters, formerly known as Uncle Willard's pole barn.

Melvin was startled and nearly fell out of his chair. A couple of others did fall out of their chairs. Apparently fatigue was pretty common problem at the moment. However, something in the voice of Hickory Nut 12 told Melvin that, one way or the other, the fatigue problem was going to be short lived.

Melvin Higgins reached over and picked up the microphone to the radio receiver that was on the table in front of him. The radio was a relatively recent product of the Mombassa twins, Irene and Nathan. They called it a "Chiron Band" transmitter/receiver. Everybody else just called it a CB radio.

Melvin Higgins pressed the switch on the microphone and said, "This here is Good Buddy. What do you got for me, Hickory Nut 12?"

"Good Buddy, I got a whole column of alien rovers headed south. I estimate there must be better'n 200 of 'em. They're moving at a pretty good clip; they must be doing 50 or 60 kilometers per hour."

Melvin looked at the map to find the location of Hickory Nut 12. They were on a hill overlooking a large desert wasteland that looked like a possible approach for Progenitor military forces. Then he answered, "Copy that, Hickory Nut 12. 200 rovers heading south at 50 to 60 KPH. Can you identify any visible weapons?"

Hickory Nut 12 responded, "I reckon about half of 'em have that chaos gun thing like the one you showed us back at HQ. The other half are a little bigger, like they're carrying troops or somethin'. There are also a few rovers with really large engine housings and carryin' a bigger version of that chaos gun. I reckon those are artillery units."

"Copy that, Hickory Nut 12. About half are assault rovers, half are transport rovers, and a few artillery rovers are mixed in for good measure."

The radio interrupted with another voice. "This is Hickory Nut 5 calling 'Good Buddy'. Do you copy Good Buddy?"

"This is Good Buddy. Bring it on back, Hickory Nut 5."

"Good Buddy, I think I'm seein' somethin' similar to Hickory Nut 12. I'm seeing about 200 o' them weird looking alien rovers heading south at about the same speed. I'm seeing about the same mix of assault, transport, and artillery rovers. But I'm also seein' something flyin' around way up yonder in the sky back in the direction them alien fellers is comin' from. I'm reckonin' that them alien fellers has reinvented airplanes of some kind."

"Copy that, Hickory Nut 5. About 200 rovers headin' south with possible airplanes."

Wallace Higgins was fully awake and sitting on the edge of his cot. He had been listening to the conversation his father had been having with the various Hickory Nuts. He looked at the map to find both Hickory Nut 12 and Hickory Nut 5, and then realized that there was no possible way they could be looking at the same alien units.

Wallace looked at his father and Melvin looked back at his son. Both of them were wearing a very worried-looking expression on their faces. After a moment, Melvin spoke to his son and everybody else in the command center.

"This plan of ours had better work, or these hills are gonna be full of dead Hillbillies."

* * * * *

Having organized the very first Hillbilly "probe team", Melvin Higgins gave them their instructions.

"Y'all take the unity rover and head north in the direction them alien fellers headed a couple of days ago. Try to keep a low profile and be careful. I don't reckon we want them to have any idear that you all are in the area scoutin' around. Try to locate a base or a town or somethin' and then write it down on the map. Be sure and get an idea of how big it is and if'n it has roads or such and what direction they're headin'. After you've got an idea on the lay of the land, we need you to snatch one or two Progenitors and fetch 'em on back here."

Melvin paused for a moment and then looked at each one of them. "It is important that you all get back here alive. We don't need to be telling anybody's ma or pa that their son or daughter died a hero. We need information and we need it badly. We need them captured alien fellers. Most of all, we need to make sure that them alien fellers have no idea that we've even been in the area. We have precious little to work with, so we got to stretch it a long ways."

The "probe team" members looked back at their leader and realized that this was serious business. For the first time in their young lives, many of them had an appreciation of their own vulnerability.

After a few "good byes", the probe team headed to the north using a crude gyrocompass and the knowledge that Marline and Stewart had of the area. It took them the better part of two days travel to get to the edge of Progenitor territory, mostly because the terrain was rough and they were trying to be very cautious and scout ahead on foot to reduce the possibility of detection.

On the morning of the their third day out, the probe team had been aware that were approaching a population center of some sort due to the reflection of the light in the light cloud cover the night before. With the onset of daylight, the probe team took a good look at their very first Progenitor military installation. At least, it looked like a military installation. It had a heavily fenced perimeter with lots of things that looked sort of like floodlights. The Progenitors had managed to cultivate some kind of forests around the base, but the trees were weird looking, definitely nothing humans would have planted. The forest was cut back to at least 200 meters from the perimeter of the base. Wallace reckoned that was done to keep an open field of fire in case somebody wanted to sneak up on the base.

On the north side of the complex, a road emerged through a gate. The road went about 200 meters and then entered the forest. The team decided that the road offered the best chance to snatch a Progenitor or two. The team tried to rest during the daylight and then, after dark, went sneaking around the base through the woods to a point over 400 meters north of the main gate and well into the forest. This actually proved to be somewhat difficult to do in the dark. The team rested for a bit, and decided on an approach to obtaining a Progenitor or two of their very own. The decided to drop a dead tree across the road and try to snatch an alien or two out of a northbound vehicle. They reckoned that might buy them a day or two before somebody started lookin' for missing kinfolks. They had to root around in the forest for a while to find a dead tree big enough to block the road, but small enough that they could carry it. Cutting a tree down would have been too noisy, especially at night.

They camped near their chosen spot during the daylight and then prepared to implement their plan in the early hours of darkness. When darkness fell, they dragged their sacrificial log to the edge of the road and waited. After about half an hour, they heard what sounded like a choking grable start to holler, which was the sound of Stewart trying to imitate a grable to let them know a vehicle was leaving the north gate of the complex. They dragged their log onto the road and then hid in some bushes to see what would happen next.

Inside the Usurper rover, the recently promoted Unit Commander Jakj'on was attempting to engage in his favorite form of recreation, a quick nap. "Rank hath its privileges", so to speak, and Jakj'on felt no compulsion to help his driver pass the time with conversation. It was a long ride to "Conflict: Annihilate" and Jakj'on needed his "beauty rest" to prepare for his promotion ceremony and de-briefing.

Shortly after Jakj'on was rendered unconscious, the driver noticed a large object lying in the road ahead. She slowed the rover down and looked at the object. It appeared to be a dead tree. It didn't look too heavy, so she stopped the rover and decided to drag it off the road herself. After she had picked up an end of the log to drag it out of the way, she suddenly encountered the most hideous creature she had ever seen, Rutherford Maynard. She dropped the log and attempted to alter a warning to her commander, but it was too late.

Rutherford enjoyed the scuffle enormously, particularly since Marline got to see the whole thing (he was getting kind of sweet on her). Even though the Progenitor was a female, she was still a lot bigger than Rutherford, so he was rather proud of the fact that he took the alien down all by himself. His momma would be particularly proud as well. The other two Maynard boys managed to snatch up the passenger before he was even awake.

There was a brief discussion on what to do with the Usurpers' rover, and they decided to take it with them. They threw the two bound aliens in the back and headed north for a bit until they ran out of forest and came to another sandy patch of desert. They then looped back around to the south, trusting in the morning wind to wipe out their tracks.

The journey back to Uncle Willard's place took a little over eight hours. At first, the folks at Uncle Willard's place were pretty concerned when they saw two rovers approaching instead of one. But things straightened out rather nicely when the two rovers pulled into the clearing and the probe team emerged from both rovers.

Melvin Higgins was enormously relieved to see Wallace safe and sound once again. Sarah Higgins got a little misty eyed. Wallace was grinnin' from ear to ear. He looked at his ma and pa and said, "I want you both to meet an ol' buddy of our'n." He nodded to the Maynard boys who dragged a most unhappy and unpleasant Progenitor out of one of the rovers.

"This here is our ol' buddy Jakj'on".

* * * * *

The Hillbillies had been at it for many hours and weren't getting anywhere. They had played every fiddle solo on every Appalachian Sweethearts record that was ever made, and all they had to show for it was a couple of tied-up, madder'n-a-hornets-nest-full-of-gasoline, Progenitor-type aliens.

At least they had solved one problem, though nobody liked the solution very much.

Progenitors cannot eat human food. Progenitors cannot drink human fluids, except for water. However, it turns out that the small trap-door crustacean that found cats to be a particular delicacy were in turn a delicacy favored by Progenitors, something on the order of lobster judging by the gusto with which they consumed the crustaceans. Of course, the crustaceans were downright ornery and difficult to catch. And really ugly. And they stank abominably when cooked. And they were toxic to humans (that had actually been discovered several years earlier). And Progenitor table manners left a lot to be desired. But at least they could keep them alive. Now if they could only get 'em drunk again.

The good people of New Appalachia were growing increasingly concerned. They had an idea, but couldn't seem to get it to work. They played Appalachian Sweetheart records by the dozen, but with no effect. They turned on the radio and listened for several hours to various Appalachian Sweethearts recordings on the radio. That didn't work either.

They had placed the two Progenitors out in Uncle Willard's pole barn so as not to inconvenience Uncle Willard's family. Also, it kept their dietary needs isolated to an area that could be cleared, except for the poor souls who actually had to feed the Progenitors. They hadn't made any effort to communicate with the aliens; it was difficult at best and they didn't want to talk to them anyway until they were drunk.

Wallace Higgins had returned to the house to grab a quick bite to eat. As he entered Uncle Willard's living room for about the eighth time, he paused for a moment and played the entire scene of the original encounter back through his mind one more time, when he noticed that something was missing from the room. Then it hit him, and he had his answer.

"Pa? Where's my pa?" asked Wallace.

"He's sittin' on the back porch takin' a rest and doing a little whittlin'." one of his aunts replied.

Wallace went out the back door and found his pa half-asleep with a stick in one hand, a pocket knife in the other, and a half-consumed glass of lemonade nearby.

"Pa?", asked Wallace. "I know what we're missing. We need that translation box them alien fellers brung with 'em and then left. That's why they ain't getting' drunk on the fiddle music."

Melvin looked at his son. Wallace looked like he had grown at least two inches and maybe 20 pounds in the last month or so. "You reckon so?", he asked his son.

"Gotta be.", replied Wallace. "It's the only thing we haven't tried yet and it's the only thing missin' from the original setup."

* * * * *

Wallace had been very correct in his analysis of the situation. When the fiddle music was played through the translation device, it did indeed get Progenitors very drunk. Jakj'on became his witty, clever, talkative, drunken self. They were going to get all kinds of information out of him.

The education of Wallace Higgins was further improved by the young, female Progenitor. Her name was Hannale'e. It turns out that when Hannale'e got drunk, she was one of those "amorous and beautiful" drunks, the kind that believe themselves to be extremely attractive and desirable. Worse still, she seemed to be particularly attracted to Wallace Higgins. Having a young, alien female "make eyes" or other contorted facial expressions of some sort gave Wallace Higgins a bad case of "the willies". Melvin Higgins got a kick out of it, but it made Wallace shudder to even think about it.

Wallace Higgins looked at the very drunken Hannale'e as she tried once again to enflame his passions and said, "Don't even go there, you stinkin', ugly, warthog."

That earned another round of chucklin' out of Melvin Higgins.

Wallace looked at the drunken, amorous alien female. She was positively the ugliest thing he had ever seen in his life. He shook his head slightly and said, "Man! If those aliens think we're as ugly as we think they are, I wonder just how drunk a feller would have to be to find one of 'em attractive."

Melvin looked at his son and replied, "I don't rightly know, but I'll bet you could go up to the house and get a jug of Uncle Willard's home brewed finest, do a little experimentin' on yourself, and find out soon enough."

That suggestion almost made Wallace mad until he realized that his pa was "funnin' with him" a bit. So instead of getting mad, he just looked at his pa and said, "You are one sick old man."

Melvin had to laugh and replied, "I reckon you got that right enough."

Wallace Higgins decided then and there that he desperately needed to learn how to cuss.

* * * * *

Having established the basic parameters required to create drunken Progenitors, the Hillbilly "research team" began to address the problem of producing massive quantities of drunken Progenitors. For this, they required additional technical expertise and summoned the Mombassa twins, Irene and Nathan.

Irene and Nathan Mombassa were the closest thing to "techno-nerds" that the Hillbillies possessed. However, they violated the stereotype in just about every way. They were both tall, very dark skinned, fairly attractive, and neither one of them wore glasses. However, they had a "techno-nerd's" passion for understanding all things technical and were quite eager to get their hands on new, alien technology to see what they could make of it.

The Mombassa twins arrived in a strange looking panel rover. The panel rover contained lots of equipment and an assistant named Andrew Jasonian. Irene and Nathan had the terribly annoying habit of both talking at the same time, a phenomena they called "full duplex conversation". Andrew Jasonian was about the only person around who possessed both enough technical skill to assist them and enough patience to put up with them at the same time.

The equipment in the panel rover was all home made, having been cobbled together from various parts scrounged around from old unity pods, old dead unity rovers, and whatever else they could dig up. The equipment represented several "unique and unusual" approaches to solving various measurement, analysis, or input generation problems. It would have either impressed the average professor of the University of Planet beyond belief, or it would have gotten them banned for life from UoP territory. Irene and Nathan didn't much care one way or the other.

Wallace Higgins had already determined that the alien rovers possessed a communications device that bore some resemblance to the translation contraption that they used to talk to the Progenitors. Of course, humans couldn't seem to use it and they had no idea how it worked. But it might just be the key to their survival.

It took Irene and Nathan Mombassa a little over a week of hard, methodical work to figure out the technology. First, they analyzed the translation device. Then they hooked up something they called a "fringisator" to understand the basic principles of resonance and how Progenitors altered. Then they poked around the communications consoles in the alien rovers. Then they had to figure out frequencies and modulation techniques for broadcasting the signal. Then they had to cobble together a transmitter.

The final test came when they placed Jakj'on in the rover they had procured from the Usurper during the probe expedition and Hannale'e in the rover with the busted axle and chaos gun. Irene turned on the transmitter while Andrew cued up a recording of what used to be Wallace Higgins' favorite Appalachian Sweethearts fiddle solo--that is until he was forced to listen to it 247 times in a row. Nathan Mombassa was watching some kind of display instrument. Uncle Willard was watching Jakj'on and Wallace Higgins was watching Hannale'e.

When sober, both Usurpers were angry and foul-tempered beyond belief. They knew they were being subjected to crude and unseemly experiments by the moral equivalent of witch doctors and shamans, and really ugly, inferior ones at that. At least the food was good.

When drunk, the two Progenitors took on a whole different nature. As the experiment proceeded, Jakj'on began to become amusing and clever. Hannale'e narrowed her eyes and she starting clacking her mandibles in what must be a seductive fashion among Progenitors. As her attention began to focus on Wallace Higgins, the hair on the back of his neck began to stand up. Hannale'e was altering her "mating call" at him again. Wallace shivered slightly with a sense of revulsion and got the heck out of the rover.

Their plan was going to work.

* * * * *

It had taken another week to build a couple of bigger, more powerful transmitters. They had to use the only AM radio station in New Appalachia to do this, so folks had to do without their favorite radio shows for a bit. Finally, the transmitters were ready and on line, just barely in time.

As Melvin Higgins looked at the map and located the positions of Hickory Nut 12 and Hickory Nut 5, he realized once again that the Hillbillies had been incredibly lucky up to this point. If this didn't work, all they had to oppose the Usurpers was one busted rover with a chaos gun, several hundred Hillbillies with an assortment of firearms, and maybe a few pet mindworm boils. They wouldn't last long.

Melvin Higgins turned to his CB radio, picked up the microphone and began to speak.

"This is Good Buddy looking for Moonshine 1 and Moonshine 2. Bring it on back Moonshines."

"This is Moonshine 1 on the flip side to Good Buddy. We copy."

"This is Moonshine 2 reelin' it in. We copy."

"Moonshine 1 and Moonshine 2, company's a-comin'. I reckon you need to get ready to serve refreshments."

"Moonshine 1 copies that. Our guests are arriving. We'll fire up the still on your mark."

"Moonshine 2 copies that. What's the '20' on our company?"

"They're just passin' the Hickory Nut line, about an hour and a half out. We will advise you when they hit the Ground Hog line."

"Moonshine 2 copies that. Guests are about an hour and a half out. We will expect to hear from you in about an hour."

"Moonshine 1 dittoes that."

Melvin Higgins looked at the map for a moment, and then selected another channel on his CB radio.

"This is Good Buddy looking for Ground Hog 6, Ground Hog 8, Ground Hog 9, and Ground Hog 14. Bring it on back Ground Hogs."

All four Ground Hog stations acknowledged.

"Be advised that we have large numbers of guest approaching your positions. Expect them in about an hour. They may not pass all of you. We need to know which ones they do pass."

All four Ground Hog stations copied that as well.

This is it, thought Melvin Higgins. Everything that could be done had been done. Either it would work and they would see the sun rise tomorrow, or they wouldn't live long enough to wonder what went wrong.

They would know in a little over an hour from now.

**OldCodger** · March 22, 2000, 11:26

CHAPTER 12 - What I Wanted Was a Good Time; What I Got Was You

"Good Buddy, this is Hickory Nut 5. Bring it on back."

"Hickory Nut 5, this is Good Buddy. Talk to me, Hickory Nut 5."

"Good Buddy, I'm seeing some more units following about 30 minutes behind that last batch I reported. We got about half as many, but with the same mix of artillery, troop transport, and combat rovers. We also got some of them boxy lookin' things with that long arm over the top and some sort of weird lookin' spindle on the arm."

"Copy that Hickory Nut 5. Those boxy lookin' things are terraformers. Hickory Nut 12, did you copy Hickory Nut 5's transmission?"

"This is Hickory Nut 12 on the flip side. We copy Hickory Nut 5 and are observing something similar."

"Copy that Hickory Nut 12."

Wallace looked at his dad and asked, "What do you suppose that means?"

Melvin replied, "Reinforcements. Them aliens have one group reinforcing two other groups. I reckon if one gits into trouble, the reinforcements will bail them out. Also, I would guess that if one group has lots of success, the reinforcements will be used to keep pushin'."

They waited and worried for about 20 minutes or so. Then, the radio erupted again.

"Good Buddy, this is Ground Hog 8. Bring in on back."

"This is Good Buddy comin' back at you, Ground Hog 8."

"I'm seeing those alien rovers bearin' down right on top of me. They're starting to spread out some."

"Good Buddy, this is Ground Hog 9. We're seeing something like what Ground Hog 8 is seeing, only I think it's a different bunch. Them aliens is starting to spread out somewhat and are getting organized into some kind of battle formation."

"Good Buddy copies Ground Hog 8 and Ground Hog 9. Standby for a moment."

Melvin Higgins and his "battle staff" looked at the map for a second to see what was shaping up. Judging by the direction the Progenitors were coming from, Ground Hog 8 and Ground Hog 9 were in trouble. Apparently, Ground Hog 8 and Ground Hog 9 had reached the same conclusion.

"Good Buddy, this is Ground Hog 9. I think we're in trouble here. I reckon them aliens are headin' right for us. We'd be much obliged if'n we could get outta here right quick."

"Good Buddy, this is Ground Hog 8. We echo the sentiment of Ground Hog 9."

"This is Good Buddy. Copy that Ground Hogs 8 and 9, get yourselves outta there right now."

It was too late for Ground Hog 9 as a well placed chaos artillery round ended further discussion for them. Ground Hog 8 managed to get two or three guys away before the Usurpers wiped out that post as well.

"This is Good Buddy callin' Moonshine 1 and Moonshine 2, bring it on back."

"Moonshine 1 copies."

"Moonshine 2 copies."

"Warm up the still and git ready to serve. The guests are nearly here."

"Moonshine 1 is warming up the still."

"Moonshine 2 is ditto on that warmup."

The two Moonshine stations were powering up their transmitters.

* * * * *

Usurper forces consisted of three well-equipped battlegroups plus eight chaos penetrators under the command of BattleLord Zh'ukov. The Usurpers only had five operational battlegroups, and all of the new chaos weaponry had been given to the three committed to this attack. Zh'ukov organized his forces into the standard "two-up, one-back" Operational Maneuver Group with Battlegroups five and eleven being the "two-up" and Battlegroup six being the "one-back". Melvin Higgins had already correctly deduced the purpose for this formation.

As the leading battlegroups approached enemy territory, BattleLord Zh'ukov ordered the battlegroups to shift out of road formation and into their primary assault formation. An electronic counter measures station reported picking up primitive human radio communications of some sort. Before Zh'ukov needed to do anything, a sub-commander ordered artillery fire directed at the source. Within a few seconds, the source of the radio communications ceased to exist.

BattleLord Zh'ukov had been fully briefed on what to expect from the opposing humans. As his formations began to close on the foothills of New Appalachia, he began to give orders.

"Formation: Primary assault. Stance: aggressive. Protocol: Protection Level 1."

Protection Level 1 protocol called for sealing all of the hatches on all of the rovers and changing over to 100 percent recirculated air. Sensors would be exposed to check for various contaminants. In this case, they were looking for the mind control agent that had been used on their recon forces at the first encounter. If contaminants were detected, the Usurpers would go to Protection Level 2 protocol and put on their special Bio-Chemical protection suits to avoid individual exposure when the infantry was deployed.

As the rover crews sealed their hatches and their air intakes, they effectively sealed their fate.

* * * * *

The Usurpers were coming in range of the Moonshine stations. Melvin Higgins had always thought of himself as a patient sort of man, but this was killing him with worry. He was certain that Ground Hogs 8 and 9 had been wiped out. He was itchin' for the Usurpers to get the bulk of their forces in range of the Moonshine stations so they could have done with it. It was hard to wait.

After waiting a bit, Melvin got on the CB radio and said, "Ground Hog 6 and Ground Hog 14, have them aliens passed your positions yet? Bring it on back."

"Good Buddy, this is Ground Hog 6. The first wave has passed and the second….."

Suddenly, Ground Hog 6 was cut off. Melvin thought about that for a moment and then said, "Them aliens must be figuring out that we're using these radios. We're gonna have to go while we can still talk on 'em." He spoke into the radio microphone. "Ground Hog 14, do not respond until the second wave of alien units has passed your position. As soon as you respond, get outta there as quick as possible and head to the south east."

Melvin would wait for another five minutes and then activate the Moonshine stations if he did not hear from Ground Hog 14. He had waited a little over three minutes and the radio suddenly came to life again.

"This is Ground Hog 14. They're past and we're gone."

"This is Good Buddy for Moonshine 1 and Moonshine 2. Break out the jugs; company is here."

"Moonshine 1 is lightnin' 'em up."

"Moonshine 2 dittoes that."

Moonshine 1 and Moonshine 2 fired up their transmitters and began to feed every Appalachian Sweethearts fiddle solo that had ever been recorded into the communications consoles of every Usurper rover and chaos penetrator that was within range. Although Melvin couldn't see it, this action had a noticeable and immediate impact on the Usurper formations. The Progenitor rovers started to experience difficulty in holding their formation. Another three minutes of exposure to the lovely fiddle playin' of Anna Maria Theresa Lopez further degraded their ability to control their formation.

BattleLord Zh'ukov was "leading his forces from the rear", so to speak, and was just coming into range of the Moonshine stations. However, he could see that something was going wrong with his lead elements. He began to alter to the commander of Battlegroup 5.

"Attention: Group Commander, Battlegroup 5. Observation: Formation losing cohesion. Situation: Not tolerable. Report: Required. Correction: Expected."

The group commander of Battlegroup 5 was becoming increasingly inebriated, but did her best to respond in a professional and appropriate manner.

"Reception: Acknowledged. Obs-s-s-s-ervation: Agree with BattleLord. Caus-s-s-s-e: Unknown. Correction: Implemented."

BattleLord Zh'ukov thought she sounded peculiar, like she was having difficulty altering.

The group commander of Battlegroup 5 attempted to correct her formation errors, but this was proving to be at first difficult and a little later impossible to accomplish.

BattleLord Zh'ukov was becoming increasingly annoyed with his subordinates. They had executed these formation maneuvers flawlessly several times in training. Why were they having such difficulty now? He began to berate his two leading group commanders.

"Attention: Group Commanders five and eleven. Situation: Unacceptable. Result: Relieved of command."

The group commander of Battlegroup 5 attempted to contact her subordinate to hand over command, but her subordinate was in worse shape than she was and was close to either throwing up or being unconscious. The group commander of Battlegroup 11 had never really cared for BattleLord Zh'ukov to begin with and wasn't about to let some gutless wonder who followed his troops into battle tell him how to run his Battlegroup. He had worked hard to learn to command a Battlegroup and had earned his promotion, and he wasn't about to let some flaming idiot of a coward tell him he could relieve his bladder, let alone relieve him of his command.

"Attention: BattleLord Zh'ukov. Mandibles of dullness. Aura of fear. Pompous spleen bug. Relieved of command: Not accepted. Command given up: When pried from cold, dead fingers."

By this time, BatteLord Zh'ukov began to feel a little bit peculiar himself. At first, he was extremely angry that the group commander of Battlegroup 11 had dared to speak to him that way. How could he dare to suggest that Zh'ukov deliberately dulled his mandibles to avoid confrontation! Or call him a coward! Or think that Zh'ukov was more contemptible than a common, lowly spleen bug! But after another moment or two of reflection, BattleLord Zh'ukov began to realize that the group commander of Battlegroup 11 was actually right.

BattleLord Zh'ukov realized that he was a huge, contemptible fraud. When he was a broodling, his own brood mates had sensed his true, contemptible nature and had persecuted him mercilessly. He had the profound realization that his own parents had never really loved him and had secretly treated his brood mates better than they had treated him. His own life-mate was hiding her contempt for him behind a thin veil of false affection. Even his own offspring realized his weak nature and said vile things about him behind his back. His promotion to BattleLord was obviously a mistake of epic proportions or some kind of devious plot to hang him out on a limb to shrivel and die.

The worst part of it all was the plain and simple fact that he honestly and truly deserved to be treated with contempt. A real BattleLord would have chucked the battle doctrine manual out the window and been on the front lines with his troops. A real BattleLord would be winning his first major battle with these humans. A real BattleLord would not be sitting in the middle of his command rover, weeping uncontrollably before his staff.

BattleLord Zh'ukov realized that he was no longer fit to live. He decided to end his pathetic and sorrowful existence right then and there. It would be the only act of courage in a life filled with cowardice. It would be the only act of honesty in a life filled with deceit. It would be the only act of rightness in a life that had gone so badly wrong.

It would also not be happening today. Just as BattleLord Zh'ukov's fingers closed around his chaos pistol in preparation for scattering the contents of his skull around the inside of his command rover, he was rendered unconscious by the continual exposure to fiddle music.

It took several moments for the impaired second-in-command to realize that BattleLord Zh'ukov had apparently checked out of the realm of conciousness. By this time, the vast majority of Usurper forces were in deep dooky.

The commander of the Sensor Traffic, Analysis, and Countermeasures (STACM) team was not as impaired as the most of the rest of the command staff due to the fact that she was a lot further back behind the front lines. She could see that the Usurpers were headed straight down the latrine pit if something didn't get fixed in a hurry. All she had to do to comprehend this fact was to listen to some of the messages on the various Usurper communications nets.

"Emotion: Panic! On me: They crawl! Assistance: Get them off!"

"Lights: Very pretty. Flying creatures: Lovely. Emotion: Groovy, baby!"

The Progenitors seemed to be "blessed" with an unusually large proportion of the "mean and nasty" type of drunk. Several APC commanders were reporting the outbreak of full hostilities in the infantry compartments of their vehicles. However, there were a few APC commanders who reported a different kind of passenger problem. In a few cases, the APC had a large percentage of the "amorous and irresistible" type of drunk. An entirely different form of activity that Progenitors found uniquely enjoyable--and a human would have found uniquely repulsive--broke out in a few APCs.

The final straw occurred when the STACM commander overheard one drunken commander attempting to give orders to his or her subordinate.

"Orders: Protect left flank. Formation: Left vanguard."

"Response: Not interested. Reason: Priority conversation. Conversation with: Supreme Progenitor Deity. Deity: Displeased by interruption. Suggestion: You apologize to Deity immediately for rudeness."

Her staff had already localized the area of some intermittent transmissions and had correctly deduced that they belonged to the opposition's headquarters. There were also two separate locations radiating extremely strong signals. Things began to go wrong when those two signal sources appeared, so she reasoned quite correctly that they were somehow the cause of their difficulties. The solution then was to eliminate those two signal sources. While they were at it, they might as well kill the enemy headquarters at the same time.

The chaos penetrators had been held in reserve to be committed at a critical point in the battle. The STACM team commander decided that this was a critical point. She split the penetrators into three groups and assigned each group a target. Unfortunately for the Usurpers, the exposure to fiddle playing had an immediate detrimental impact on three of the penetrators. The pilot of one penetrator saw a sand dune with a scattering of scrub fungus on it, and interpreted that as a group of human infantry trying to flank the Usurper attack. The pilot dropped his entire payload on the dune and was satisfied to see that it had entirely obliterated the human attack. Two other penetrators could not make proper identification of their own units and began to attack elements of Battlegroup 11. After doing considerable damage, both were eventually shot down by anti-air fire from the Battlegroup.

Unfortunately for the humans, the impact of the fiddle playing was not as strong on the other five penetrators. Two penetrators got lucky and took out the antenna array of Moonshine 2. Two more penetrators targeted the antenna array of Moonshine 1. Luckily, the flight time to Moonshine 1 was longer than the flight time to Moonshine 2, so these two penetrators' pilots were considerably more intoxicated when they arrived on target. They lined up on their bombing run--which proved to be quite difficult because the entire universe would not hold still. They both missed.

One of the misses dropped its payload into a large patch of fungus, doing considerable damage to the fungus. At this point, the fungus patch erupted into something that had never been seen before on Chiron, flying mindworms. The patch almost exploded with huge numbers of them.

Uncle Willard and his family had been holed up in a hunting cabin located in a small hollow near the patch of fungus, and were the first non-native life forms to behold the flying windworms. They heard a sound like a buzzing swarm of insects and then saw the sky go dark. Uncle Willard said, "It's like one of those locust swarms back on earth that my grandpappy told me about. They filled the sky and ate everything in sight." Later, other humans would agree with this description and thus the flying mindworms were named the "Locusts of Chiron".

These "locusts" didn't appear to be interested primarily in eating anything. They appeared to be upset at what had happened to their fungus patch and were determined to even the score somewhat. The two penetrators could have easily out-run the swarm, except the pilots were by now stoned to a state of near unconsciousness and their reaction times were horribly slow. The mindworms engulfed the two penetrators like a swarm of locusts, and the two penetrators fell from the sky. With their lust for vengeance not fully quenched, the mindworms looked for other targets and found a couple more flying things and a large mass of metal things to their north.

They would dine well and reproduce extensively tonight.

The final remaining penetrator arrived at the target coordinates to find two different buildings. This wasn't supposed to happen. The mentally impaired pilot could not figure out which one to hit, so she picked one. As she attempted to target the human building, the building would not hold still. Her first pass missed completely. Her second bombing run missed also. She was out of bombs, so she decided to strafe it. The building was particularly agile and kept dodging her fire. She emptied her entire ammo supply and still the building stood. The target was important, so she decided to run over it. She lined up as best she could on a somewhat straight and level patch of ground and lowered her landing gear. The landing was pretty rough--the review board would chew her out royally if they had seen it--but the penetrator held together. The penetrator slammed into the building and the nose gear collapsed, bringing the penetrator to an abrupt halt. The shock of the accident coupled with her inebriated state collapsed the pilot into a state of peaceful unconsciousness.

The only surviving penetrator on Chiron now sat on top of the former site of Uncle Willard's living room.

Like any phenomena applied to a large statistical sample, not every Progenitor was as susceptible to fiddle playin' as the majority seemed to be. In a few cases, rover crews held together and attempted to carry out their missions. In a few more cases, rover crews held together and saw the state of utter chaos their assault had been reduced to, and simply left the battlefield heading north for a safer climate. Some of the rear elements of Battlegroup 6, the trailing Battlegroup, reached this same conclusion and retreated without ever personally experiencing what the rest of their comrades had experienced.

As it turned out, the few Usurper units that attempted to fight were so disorganized and attacked so haphazardly that a single rover with a busted axle and a chaos gun, several Hillbillies with a variety of eclectic firearms, and a few pet mindworm boils were more than enough to handle the situation.

* * * * *

It took several hours for the Hillbillies to gather up all of the unconscious Usurpers and sort through the wreckage for survivors. The vast majority of Progenitors were unconscious and, being rather large, took four or five guys to carry. This quickly grew tiresome, but they had no real choice but to keep at it.

Melvin Higgins knew it had been a very near thing. Had the Usurper penetrators actually succeeded in destroying the antenna array of Moonshine 1, the Progenitors would probably have sobered up as quickly as they had gotten drunk and things would have gotten real ugly in a hurry.

The other odd thing about all of this was that Melvin Higgins, and a lot of other folks, now pretty much detested the music of the Appalachian Sweethearts. He had certainly heard enough of it in the last month to be thoroughly tired of it.

Much of the Progenitor equipment was nearly intact. In fact, enough of it was intact that the Hillbillies now possessed the most potent military technology on Chiron. They just didn't know it and didn't know how to use it.

After about three hours of wandering through the chaos of the Progenitor Battlegroups, somebody discovered an interesting and different kind of rover. After a brief struggle with the hatches, entrance to the rover was achieved. The insides were very different from anything else that they had encountered and somebody reckoned that this might be a command vehicle of some sort. Melvin and Wallace were summoned, along with a couple of older Hillbillies who had some memory of actual military experience back when they lived in the Hive, and it was quickly concluded that they had hit the mother lode. They had found the vehicle of the overall commander of Usurper forces.

Melvin Higgins figured that this vehicle would have access to some sort of communications channel back to Usurper headquarters, possibly even with the Progenitor equivalent of a visual link. This gave him an idea.

* * * * *

It took about two days of rearranging, testing, and messing around. They had grabbed a bunch of rovers and lined them up in several nice, straight lines. They stationed Chiron's last surviving penetrator in the background (the front wheel was supported by a hydraulic jack that was carefully obscured from sight). Hillbillies were arranged in what looked to them like military formations in front of the various equipment items. It was time to make a little call.

* * * * *

Conqueror Judaa Marr was almost frantic with worry. First, the impossible had happened. The Usurpers had been defeated. Second, he hadn't heard from the humans who had done this to their forces. Third, he did not know if it would be possible to arrange a truce.

These humans were such an ignorant and undisciplined species. They should have contacted him by now. They should be displaying their victory gloat. They should be reveling in their own glory. They had no manners, no diplomacy, and no idea of how civilized beings engaged in conflict.

Judaa Marr still could not believe the reports he had read. For one thing, they conflicted so badly. For another, most of the survivors were too terrified to tell the truth. This was the one time that standard Usurper disciplinary procedure was proving to be a major drawback.

Judaa Marr's "worry session" was interrupted when an aide interrupted his thoughts to inform him that there was a call coming in from BattleLord Zh'ukov's command rover. It appeared to be from the humans who had defeated their forces. Judaa Marr braced himself for the unpleasant task of facing them.

Sure enough, the "altercam" displayed two typically hideous looking human beings. The aura of one indicated that it was younger than the other. The younger one spoke into a translation device.

"Contact: Leader of Manifold Usurpers. Purpose: Negotiation. Identity: Requested."

The human indicated a desire to speak with the leader of the Usurpers for the purposes of negotiation. The identity of the Progenitor responding was requested.

Judaa Marr saw no value in angering them further, so he answered courteously.

"Identity: Judaa Marr. Designation: Leader of Manifold Usurpers. Emotion: Ambivalence."

"Identity: Acknowledged. Request: Look."

Having acknowledged Judaa Marr, Wallace Higgins had requested him to look closely at the "altercam" screen. Judaa Marr did so. The altercam on the other end began to move and displayed row upon row of Usurper combat rovers and what appeared to be several hundred, possibly over one thousand infantry. In the background, Judaa Marr saw a chaos penetrator.

Melvin and Wallace Higgins knew this was the tricky part. The scene they were showing the Usurper leader had been carefully staged to look impressive. Even Melvin had to admit that it succeeded at that. But they had little idea how to use all that stuff effectively. But the Usurpers might not necessarily know that. Then again, they might be fully aware of that fact. The next few seconds would tell.

Melvin's mouth was so dry he couldn't speak. It was fortunate that he didn't have to. Both of their backs were clammy with sweat. Any human could see these two "good ol' boys" were more nervous than a cat in a room full of rockin' chairs.

Wallace began to speak again.

"Manufacture of equipment: Manifold Usurpers. Current owner: Humans. Intent: Destruction. Target: Usurpers. Alteration of intent: Possible. Decision: Yours."

If Judaa Marr had possessed a better understanding of humans and human body language, he would have seen that the two humans who had just informed him of his possibly impending destruction were not being entirely honest with him. If Judaa Marr had possessed a knowledge of the human game of poker, he might have called their bet and then raised it. Unfortunately for Judaa Marr, he had never deemed the human species significant enough to be worth an investment of effort to learn much about them, so he possessed none of the knowledge that would have helped him make the most critical decision he was ever going to make.

Judaa Marr "did the math" so to speak. He still had two mostly operational Battlegroups. His opponent had the better part of three operational Battlegroups. The two Usurper Battlegroups had mostly particle impacter weaponry and synthmetal armor. His opponent had chaos weaponry with the new resonance armor. Judaa Marr had no penetrators and no anti-aircraft capability. His opponent had at least one penetrator and possibly as many as eight. Even though the humans might not know right at this point how to use their new-found military might, this group had proven to be especially clever and devious. They would learn quickly.

Defeat was inevitable.

Judaa Marr was forced to recall when two proud human leaders were each forced to spend a little quality time in a punishment sphere. Both Yang and Domai had entered the sphere with pride and defiance. The results had been hard to stomach, even for a feared Progenitor warrior. He realized that he greatly feared a similar visit to a similar punishment sphere that was likely to be located in the capital of the human faction that had beaten them. Judaa Marr did the only thing he could see that would save Progenitor lives, including his own.

"Defeat: Accepted. Capitulation: Agreed. Subservience: Sworn."

Judaa Marr had surrendered and agreed to a pact of submission to the humans.

Melvin Higgins breathed a huge sigh of relief. All he was really hoping for was to get the Usurpers to call off their dogs. He never expected a complete surrender. He and Wallace had just saved the Hillbillies by bluffing with the moral equivalent of a pair of sixes.

**OldCodger** · March 31, 2000, 15:59

CHAPTER 13 - If I Had a Hammer, I'd Hammer on Your Head

Paula Forbes slammed the door to her townhouse shut rather noisily. It would probably upset her neighbors again, but she no longer cared. She had just returned home after another rough shift at work. Working in the recycling tanks of Morgan Industrial was proving to be the absolute pits of existence.

The last six weeks of Paula Forbes' life had witnessed many extreme changes. Her last conversation with her former mentor, Gayle Storm, had been short and to-the-point. Paula was being reassigned to manage one or two of the production lines at the recycling tanks. It wasn't specifically stated, but Paula knew this was punitive action for her public moral indignation at CEO Morgan's plan to basically enslave the people of New Appalachia. Gayle had also explained that Paula could still recover her career--basically anybody could with time, and longevity regimes certainly provided large quantities of that. But that also meant it would take a long time, probably several years. And Paula knew it would probably still be held against her in some obscure or unseemly way.

Today had been another typically miserable day. As usual, there was another equipment breakdown on some key subsystem. The workers who ran the production line wouldn't touch the equipment to actually try to fix anything. Paula had no real ability to get them to do much of anything--what was she going to do, fire them? They didn't want to be there any more than she did. Trying to get maintenance crews to come to the tanks to fix stuff or perform scheduled maintenance was like trying to extract teeth from a chicken. To make matters even worse, Paula's immediate supervisor was basically a sadist. She was a late middle age matron who had let herself go to seed. The "B" word frequently came to mind when Paula thought about her supervisor. Paula's supervisor didn't care what Paula had to do or put up with, as long as the production lines were running and Paula was reasonably miserable. At least Paula's supervisor seemed to enjoy her job; all that misery for all of her underlings seemed to bring her much joy.

Paula placed her lunchbox and keys on the table, kicked off her shoes, turned on the holovision and then flopped wearily on the couch. Paula's life had changed in other subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Her former friends were nowhere to be found. Paula's former friends were now "too busy" or "had previous commitments" when Paula called to try to arrange some social engagement. After three or four similar rejections, Paula knew what the score was on that front. The guy she had been dating--and rather liked--no longer called. When you are a rising star in the Morgan corporate hierarchy, everybody is your friend. Things are considerably different when your career is trashed and you smell bad to boot.

In fact, one of the worst parts about this job was the smell one picked up. Paula Forbes stank at the end of the day. Paula was packing her own lunch like a common laborer; people who worked in the recycling tanks were not exactly welcome at public restaurants. Most of Paula's nicer clothes were working their way to the back of her closet. There was no point in wearing something nice to work and then having it smell so awful at the end of the day. Besides, there was no motivation to look either "professional" or "nice" at work. There was nobody there worth impressing and the nicer Paula looked, the more her supervisor seemed to resent Paula's youth and attractiveness, and the more contrary she behaved. Paula would, of course, soon adjourn to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. There she would scrub herself thoroughly and repeatedly. Even so, when she was done, there would still be a tinge of unpleasant aroma on her.

The final indignity of the demotion of Paula Forbes occurred when she realized she was being followed and watched. In fact, she had been followed home from work and somebody was probably stashed around somewhere to keep an eye on her through the night. Apparently, Gayle Storm and CEO Morgan had assigned one or more probe teams to keep an eye on her. Even worse, either they had assigned extremely green or incompetent teams to watch her, or they simply didn't care whether or not she knew she was being watched. They certainly didn't expend much effort trying to be discrete about it.

Paula knew the reason for this surveillance, of course. Paula Forbes knew about CEO Morgan's "master plan" for the people of New Appalachia. If she even merely appeared to be using that knowledge in any way to obstruct that goal, Paula reasoned that her next visit to the recycling tanks would be to return her bodily compounds to the "soup".

Paula sighed, picked up the remote control for her holovision, and began to channel surf. This was another change for her. Prior to her demotion, Paula didn't watch much holovision. Now, she turned it on every evening. The programming hadn't gotten any better; most of the shows were written by lobotomized morons for the entertainment of the insufferably incompetent. But at least it made human sounding noises that sort of kept her company.

As Paula was channel surfing, she paused for a moment on Morgan News Network to see if anything interesting was happening anywhere on Chiron. After watching a couple of commercial messages, the nightly business report resumed its summary of daily stock trading and market trends. After about five minutes of this discussion, the program was interrupted for an important announcement. One of the major network news anchors appeared on the screen and began to speak.

"We interrupt your regularly scheduled holocast to bring you the following breaking news. Morgan Military Intelligence has just learned that about one week ago, the Manifold Usurpers surrendered to the newly discovered faction residing in New Appalachia. We will be taking you live to the main briefing room at the Octagon where General Wannabee, Supreme Commander of Morganite Military Forces, will issue a public statement about this event."

That news item caught Paula's attention and caused her to perk up. General Wannabee appeared in the holo-matrix and gave the typical dry military briefing. The gist of his briefing was that the Usurpers had apparently launched a major assault against New Appalachia along an axis of approach that would allow them to extend the assault to either Spartan or Morganite territory. The new faction had apparently managed to capture the bulk of the Progenitor expedition intact--General Wannabee was being deliberately vague about how they accomplished this--and then forced the Usurpers into a pact of submission. A few questions such as "how did Morgan military intelligence discover this?" and "What are the ramifications of this event for the balance of power on Chiron?" were asked and dutifully evaded. Paula Forbes decided that General Wannabee could tap dance his way through a minefield without damaging anything.

Several things were immediately obvious to Paula Forbes. First, all of the holovision channels would be busy for the next couple of days interviewing "talking heads" to get their "expert opinions" on the New World Order and whether or not this would be good for business. Second, the people of New Appalachia had just increased their attractiveness as a target for a Morganite takeover by at least an order of magnitude. Third, the only reason this announcement was being made now was because CEO Morgan wanted the rest of Chiron to know about it.

When the regularly scheduled business news report resumed, it announced that Morgan Mining Industries had recently completed negotiations with residents of New Appalachia to develop a mining site that promised to be quite productive. This new mine would be beneficial to the Morgan Industrial Conglomerate and would be beneficial to the impoverished residents of New Appalachia. In other business news, ground had been broken for the very first J-Mart discount department store--a new division of Morgan Retail Industries, Inc.--in the New Appalachian city of New Nashville.

"So," thought Paula Forbes, "it has begun."

* * * * *

In reality, Paula Forbes was completely wrong about one point. CEO Morgan would have kept the recent submission of the Usurpers to the Hillbillies secret if he thought he could do so. The problem was that this event was too significant to stay secret for very long. Therefore, CEO Morgan reasoned that it was better to get out in front of the news and appear to be leading it than it was to appear to be chasing it, trying to catch up.

Gayle Storm had been sitting in her living room with her husband watching the breaking news report on MNN. She had known, of course, that this story was about to break. She had been there when CEO Morgan outlined the briefing for General Wannabee. Gayle had to admit that General Wannabee did an impressive job of using lots of words while at the same time avoiding any semblance of actual content.

Shortly after the military briefing concluded, Gayle's beeper went off. She had expected this. She excused herself and retired to her den to handle the incoming call from CEO Morgan. She activated her titanium channel link. She really liked this comm system; it was so powerful and yet easy to use and so secure. She would have loved to hire the team that built this to work on some of her more pressing technical problems. As expected, the incoming call was from CEO Morgan.

"Gayle, I take it that you watched General Wannabee's briefing on MNN. What were your impressions?"

Gayle responded. "He did a really good job. He got to the point; he was polite and confident, and he avoided revealing anything we didn't want revealed."

CEO Morgan chuckled a bit. "General Wannabee may not be much of a military presence, but he does a nice job of avoiding real issues. Well, the news is now officially out. Are we ready to start tracking the other factions and especially their probe teams?"

Gayle Storm thought for a moment and then responded. "Our probe teams will be in place at the edge of New Appalachia to pick up surveillance when the other factions start to arrive. I really wish that we had the luxury of a couple more days to prepare, but I think we've done the best we can given the operational constraints."

The only reason that the Morganites were aware of recent events in New Appalachia was because they had infiltrated several Hive data nodes that the Usurpers had incorporated into their own datalinks after they had conquered the Hive. The infilitration did not have full access to the Usurper network, but it did provide enough information to deduce the outcome of recent events. When combined with other information from other sources, notably two other human factions that had been fully infiltrated, the Morganites realized that others were at least aware that something significant had happened, and thus the decision was made to be the ones who actually announce it. Since the Morganites were "right next door" to New Appalachia, they would have looked either silly or incompetent if some other faction made the announcement. CEO Morgan didn't like looking silly or incompetent; both were bad for business.

CEO Morgan said, "Good. We'll have our teams in place well ahead of anyone else, particularly those infernal Believer probe teams. I always like it when Miriam is the last person to know anything. Make sure we send in a couple of monitoring teams to assess the progress of our master plan for the region. Also, let's keep the EdgeCrusher team on standby for a quick insertion into the region in the event we need some backup."

"Both are already done," responded Gayle.

"Good" said CEO Morgan. "Well, I won't keep you anymore this evening. Stay on top of things, as always, and let me know if anything comes up. Good night."

The channel was disconnected and Gayle went back to the living room to enjoy her husband's company for a while.

In about two hours, Sister Miriam Godwinson would be smiling and frowning when she read the decrypted report of this most recent conversation between CEO Morgan and Gayle Storm. She would be smiling because her probe teams were already in place at the borders of New Appalachia. They would be ready to start tracking the Morganite probe teams as soon as they arrived.

However, Sister Miriam would be frowning because CEO Morgan had a master plan and this was the first she had heard of it.

* * * * *

Prime Function Aki Zeta-5 of the Cybernetic Consciousness observed the same MNN holocast as the rest of Chiron. Prime Function Aki Zeta-5 made a point to observed this newscast on a regular basis because MNN news coverage was the best on Chiron. Also, it was useful to know what the "unlinked" minds were currently thinking or concerned about.

Prime Function Aki Zeta-5 was the fifth and final Prime Function to be constructed by the Cybernetic Consciousness. Prime Functions Aki Zeta-1 through Aki Zeta-3 had been sabotaged during construction and Prime Function Aki Zeta-4 had disappeared under mysterious and unexplained circumstances.

The region of New Appalachia was almost on the other side of Chiron from the territory currently held by the Consciousness. Usually, this part of the world was far enough away that it did not appear on the Consciousness "radar screen". However, given the proximity of the Consciousness to the Manifold Caretakers, the conquest of the other Progenitor faction was extremely significant on two accounts. First, whatever had been done to the Usurpers might be usable against the Caretakers. Second, the elimination of the Usurper threat to the Caretakers would free up Caretaker forces for use elsewhere, such as against the Consciousness.

The Consciousness was still small and growing slowly. When the Caretakers had crash-landed, they had immediately and easily conquered the Data Angels and the Pirates, and took out a sizeable chunk of Peacekeeping territory as well. The Consciousness shared a long border with the Caretakers. Logic dictated that the current state of non-hostile affairs would not continue much longer.

To make matters worse, the Consciousness shared another common border with the Believers. The Believers were not logical. They accepted things as true and behaved in ways that the Consciousness could not comprehend. But they were impressive warriors. Several years ago, the Caretakers had attempted to invade Believer territory. Though they possessed superior technology, Believer forces effectively and quickly rebuffed them. Plus, the Believers had great skill in covert operations, rivaling or even exceeding the skills of the former Data Angels faction. During the brief but intense conflict with the Caretakers, they had managed to acquire many new technologies through covert methods, and managed to subvert several entire military units that had been staffed by humans in subjection to the Caretakers.

The resources available to the Consciousness were limited and not sufficient to meet either potential threat, let alone both of them. They needed allies. Perhaps this newly discovered faction could be an ally. It was worth investigating.

Prime Function Aki Zeta-5 would convene a Merging to consider this.

* * * * *

Prophet Cha Dawn sat impassively before his followers. He had been meditating quietly for several hours, pondering the recent news and waiting for the Voice to speak to him.

The Cult of Planet, as it was referred to by those outside the Voice, had been born several years ago of a merging of the strongest, most militant aspects of the Believers and Gaians. Some said it was a union of the most severe nut cases from both factions, which was particularly harsh when one remembered that most of those same people regarded both the Believers and the Gaians as extremist nut cases themselves.

The Followers of the Voice of Planet had heard the news of the conquest of the Manifold Usurpers. Planet had told the Followers of the role of the Progenitors in its own creation. Planet had also told the Followers of the corruption with the Progenitors. Planet had informed them of its own desire to rid itself of the taint of the Progenitors, along with those human factions that would not submit to the Will of Planet. The Followers would be the instruments of that cleansing.

The Cult was growing stronger. It had recently began to plan for a strike against the tainted, half-believing Gaians. The Gaians would be the first. They had failed to embrace the Voice when it first called to them, instead preferring the path of compromise. Planet had blessed them with knowledge not possessed by others. Planet had blessed them with many gifts, including control of the Shana-Kree, the mindworms that Planet used to protect and cleanse itself. Yet the Gaians had insisted on keeping to some of the old human ways. To compromise was to fail; Planet had spoken.

The news of the conquest of the Manifold Usurpers had interrupted their planning. This was significant. This may alter everything. Thus, they would wait for the Voice to speak to them. Prophet Cha Dawn was the Chosen Instrument of the Voice. This is why he was meditating, waiting to hear the Voice.

Prophet Cha Dawn sat bhudda-like in the lotus position on a large cushion covered in the silk of the Shana-Kree. No other faction knew the secret of making mindworm silk, not even the Gaians. Thus, it was highly prized as a trade item and served a practical benefit of generating income for the Cult. Prophet Cha Dawn wore a bright pink robe made of the same kind of silk. He did not speak, but others in the chamber muttered prayers, chanted softly, and burned incense. Prophet Cha Dawn knew that the chanting and incense burning served no real purpose, but it made his Followers feel better; some would say it made them feel more religious. It was a small concession to allow.

Cha Dawn finally began to speak.

"A new day has dawned. The Voice has Spoken."

All became quiet.

"Planet has other children not of this fold. We must seek them out. We must bring them in."

The role of the Advocate was to ask questions or speak on behalf of the people. Depending on the circumstances, the Advocate would ask questions, offer comment, or even raise doubts. Respect for the Advocate was exceeded only by respect for the Prophet himself. It was the Advocate's time to speak. The Advocate stepped forward and did so.

"What children do you refer to, O Voice of Planet?"

The Prophet replied, "Planet has other children in the region others refer to as New Appalachia."

The Advocate spoke again. "O Voice of Planet, why are these other children important?"

"All children of Planet are important. These children of Planet are important at this time and this place because they possess gifts, gifts we need."

"O Voice of Planet, the children in New Appalachia are far away. How shall we bring them into the fold?"

"We have the means. We must go to New Appalachia and persuade them of their destiny."

"And if they will not be persuaded, what then O Voice of Planet?"

"Then we will use more persuasive means. Planet has spoken."

**OldCodger** · April 5, 2000, 16:26

CHAPTER 14 - Don't Be Messin' With Something You Cain't Handle

Proctor Zhakarov sat in his office contemplating recent events. Things were spinning out of control.

Proctor Zhakarov could barely accept the fact that there was an entire faction living in New Appalachia that nobody even knew existed a few months ago. Chiron was large and it had taken several years to establish contact with the other survivors of the Unity breakup. The region was remote and the inhabitants were somewhat reticent. The probability of such an occurrence was low, but still believable.

The unacceptable part was that this completely unknown faction was pacted with the most militant human faction on Chiron, the Spartans. And now, this completely unknown faction had forced surrender on the most powerful military faction and his most direct threat, the Manifold Usurpers. But the truly unacceptable part was that this faction now possessed the highest level of military technology on Chiron.

The surrender of the Usurpers to those ignorant, uncouth Hillbillies was almost more than Proctor Zhakarov could stomach. The recent MNN report confirmed what his probe teams had earlier deduced. Zhakarov had sent a few probe teams into New Appalachia on a general survey mission, to examine general social conditions and assess the level of threat they represented. Zhakarov knew his probe teams were not in the same league as Morgan's or Godwinson's, but they could still be very effective when necessary.

The consolidated report he received from University Intelligence Services was somewhat encouraging. Apparently the Hillbillies had stumbled across some key weakness in the Progenitor physiology and managed to exploit this weakness to the fullest. Ridiculous! But strange things had happened before; therefore it was at least possible. The Hillbillies had done experimentation without adequate scientific training and facilities for proper research. Absurd! But then, some 300 years ago an American inventor back on earth had said that necessity was the mother of invention. So it was still possible.

The current reality of Proctor Zhakarov consisted of an entire sequence of improbable events that followed no scientific rationale. But it was still his current reality. Now, how best to deal with it? The answer was obvious. How would he handle a particularly thorny scientific problem? He would define a research goal and plan, move to implement the plan, do the research, and then analyze the results.

What was the goal of this project? To obtain the scientific knowledge of the Usurpers. Such knowledge would infuse new ideas and concepts into current research projects and raise the University of Planet to planetary dominance. How to obtain this knowledge? The use of military force was clearly not an option. Whether or not the Hillbillies could conduct a defense of New Applachia was irrelevant. The Spartans and Usurpers could certainly do so very effectively. The opposition possessed needlejet penetrators. The University was still researching air power and its proper application. No, a military invasion was not an option.

How about infiltration? This technique was much more subtle and potentially quite risky, but could yield huge benefits if handled correctly. The problem here was what to infiltrate? The Hillbillies had no data network. Onsite human intelligence might work, but would be slower and much riskier. It was a given fact that other factions would be taking this approach and thus University probe teams would be encountering other probe teams. A covert war would eventually be detected, even by a faction as obtuse as the Hillbillies.

Then, an idea emerged in the mind of Proctor Zhakarov. He mulled it over a bit and then realized this was the answer. It was brilliant.

The University would give the Hillbillies a data network, a pre-infiltrated data network.

Every faction on Chiron acknowledged that University network nodes were the best on Chiron. Several factions had purchased them for their own research efforts, and the University had sold them to those factions at a nice profit. Of course, these network nodes were never the latest versions, but they were always much better than those produced locally.

The University had never pre-infiltrated a network node. The other factions were already deeply suspicious and would likely have detected that. Zhakarov knew that the University could not risk the animosity of the Hive (back when they still existed) or the Spartans. However, the University had successfully infiltrated the datalinks of several factions using the intimate knowledge of the design and architecture of the network node and the datalinks.

It was a gamble, but it was time to take it. The University would give the Hillbillies a single network node as a "demo" or a gift, and also teach them how to use it. The University would then sell them three or four additional network nodes--that way, they wouldn't be suspicious--and then tie them into the University network. The new network nodes would be pre-infiltrated so that University espionage researchers could download essential information as quickly as possible.

Somebody might eventually discover what Zhakarov had done. Publicly, the other factions would raise a major outcry at the deception. Privately, they would all be envious. It would not matter. By the time anybody could do anything about it, the University would be in the lead technologically and could assert its new-found power in any way that it chose.

* * * * *

Brother Abdul Al'Saleem was sitting comfortably in a chair in front of the desk of Sister Miriam Godwinson. He was sipping a cup of tea and waiting for her to finish skimming or reading the report he had just submitted on the residents of New Appalachia.

Prior to his conversion, Brother Abdul had been a minor civil servant in the Peacekeeper government. However, Brother Lal had betrayed Miriam's trust on two occasions--which had been at least one occasion too many--and had lost almost half of the Peacekeeper territory to the Believers. Even worse, Lal's erratic diplomacy had cost him most of the other half when the Caretakers landed because he was an untrustworthy ally; nobody wanted to help him. There was still a small, independent Peacekeeper presence on Chiron, but it did not amount to much.

As part of the Believer's military campaign against the Peacekeepers, Believer missionaries had been sent in to try to convert the population. They had pretty good success in this effort, including one Abdul Al'Saleem. Brother Abdul had proven to be a True Believer and had earned Sister Miriam's trust, and later the office of Minister of Intelligence Services. Brother Abdul had the unique ability to separate his faith from the facts. Thus, his reports were not colored by unnecessary religious rhetoric or wishful thinking. Sister Miriam appreciated his clarity of thought as well as the clarity of his convictions.

Sister Miriam looked up from the report and said, "This looks interesting. Do you have any ideas on how to accomplish this?"

Brother Abdul replied, "I don't think military force is necessarily a good option. New Appalachia is too far away to mount an invasion. Plus, they have strong allies in the Spartans and Usurpers. Besides all that, I know how you feel about the use of force unless it is absolutely necessary."

Sister Miriam had not desired the conflict with either the Peacekeepers or the Caretakers. In their own unique way, both were part of God's creation and precious in His sight. But both had earned the retribution they had received. Lal had signed a treaty with the Believers, opened trade markets and other forms of exchange, and then abruptly cancelled the treaty to pursue a similar treaty with the Gaians. Sister Miriam secretly believed that Pravin Lal had been attracted to Dierdre Skye; the thought of Dierdre dancing naked among the trees had that effect on men. Later, Lal came crawling back to negotiate another treaty and Sister Miriam had consented to the reestablishment of the treaty and trade relations. Then, while in the middle of negotiating a Pact of Brotherhood, Lal had inexplicably launched a surprise attack that had quickly captured three cities and killed several hundred of her people. The counterattack had been swift and effective, almost fanatical. Even at that, Pravin Lal had made no effort to resolve the conflict until almost half the Peacekeeper cities had been taken.

The Believers had more notice of the impending conflict with the Caretakers. When the Caretakers landed, they had simply crushed the Nautilus Pirates and the Data Angels. Sister Miriam had sent ambassadors to reason with the Caretakers, but the Caretakers were not interested. After crushing these two human factions, the Caretakers had decided to bite off a chunk of Believer territory. Even though the Caretakers possessed better technology, the Believers had successfully resisted the invasion and actually began to take chunks of Caretaker territory. Believer probe teams had procured much interesting technical data, and the Believers had taken two Caretaker bases before Guardian H'minee came to her senses and offered a truce. Later, when the Caretakers started in on the Peacekeepers, nobody came to Lal's aide. Apparently, he had managed to anger enough human factions that they all decided to leave him to stew in his own juices. That, and a healthy fear of what the Progenitors were capable of doing.

Brother Abdul continued his analysis. "I don't think subversion is necessarily a good idea either. These people have done nothing to offend us or anyone else on Chiron. They are simply doing the best they can to survive. Besides, with the Usurpers out of the picture, we will need to watch our border with the Caretakers quite carefully. I think the solution is to seek some form of alliance with the New Appalachian faction and use this alliance to obtain their weapon to use on the Caretakers."

Sister Miriam thought about that for a moment and then said, "Normally, I would agree with you. But this time the stakes are too high. We need to absolutely insure either an alliance or at least get our hands on their weapon. Without the Usurpers to keep them in check, the Caretakers will become a threat. In fact, I would not be surprised if the Caretakers are not already in a bit of a panic over this situation. They may try to do something harmful to the first human faction that offends them in some way.

"However, you are correct about the use of military force and about attempting to subvert the entire faction. We don't have the resources to do either, nor do we have the moral imperative. They have done nothing wrong to anyone, and therefore are not deserving of such retribution. However, the data in this report shows me a way to gain control of this faction in a way that does no one harm, and is actually good for them."

Brother Abdul perked up at that. "What do you see and what do you propose to do?"

Miriam replied. "The population figures in this report indicate that about 35 percent of the people in New Appalachia attend church services every Sunday. Another 30 percent or so seems to enjoy the paths of sin somewhat in excess. The rest of the population seems to fall somewhere in between. We can use the 35 percent who are believers in their own way to our advantage."

Brother Abdul said, "I still don't understand.'

Sister Miriam began to smile. "It's easy, Brother Abdul. The 35 percent who are believers today are effectively our allies. What is the one thing that those who believe would want for their non-believing friends and neighbors? For these non-believers to become believers. We will help them. We will provide them with missionary teams who will attempt to reach out to the non-believers and save their souls. Not all will believe, but many will. And when they do, they will effectively become our allies. Once we've converted enough of them, they will effectively become the Believers of New Appalachia. We will have our allies; we will have our secret weapon; and we will have a major presence right next to the godless scientists and their immoral experiments. We will also have a major presence next to the materialistic Morganites and their love of money. We can save the lost souls of the University of Planet and the Morganites. We might even save some of those power-mad Spartans." Miriam did not mention that this would also make the Believers the most powerful faction on Chiron.

Brother Abdul thought for a moment and then asked, "How do you propose to get missionary teams into the region? They may not simply allow them in."

Sister Miriam smiled even more and said, "That's also an easy question. We'll do what we did to the Morganites several years ago. We'll offer them a cultural exchange program."

* * * * *

Caretaker Lular H'minee was a very worried Progenitor. The unthinkable had happened; the Usurpers had been conquered.

There was no love lost between the Caretakers and Usurpers. Their conflict had actually begun long before their arrival on Manifold Six. The Usurpers wanted to abandon the Manifold experiment, or at least twist it toward goals that it was not originally designed to fulfill. They did not understand that one simply did not mess around with a living biosphere the size of an entire planet, especially when that entire biosphere was intended to become a sentient superbeing.

While Caretaker H'minee had secretly looked forward to performing the victory gloat over the prone body of her hated adversary, Conqueror Judaa Marr, it was not a sense of jealousy that someone else had beaten her to it that caused her current agitation. It was the fact that that "someone else" was non-Progenitor and specifically human.

Caretaker H'minee had no real love or concern for the humans. Just as the Usurpers had done when they crash-landed on Planet, the Caretakers had also eliminated two human factions to make room for themselves. The Caretakers had also taken about half the territory of another faction; Caretaker H'minee didn't remember which one. It wasn't important anyway.

However, unlike the Usurpers, the Caretakers had come to the uncomfortable realization that the humans could and would fight, and do so effectively. The attempt to take the Uranium Flats from the Believers had taught the Caretakers an unpleasant and bitter lesson. Now, Caretaker H'minee realized that there were forces on Manifold Six that could possibly defeat the Caretakers, and she was heavily outnumbered.

The Caretakers had, of course, infiltrated the Usurpers. Thus, they knew that some sort of strange mind control weapon had been used to subvert the Usurpers three best Battlegroups and this is what forced the Usurpers to surrender. The Usurpers didn't know what this weapon was, but it had an astounding effect on them. H'minee had no doubt that the humans would be moving to develop and employ this weapon against the Caretakers.

Caretaker H'minee decided that she had two goals. The most immediate goal was to find out what the secret weapon was and how it worked so that a counter-measure could be developed. This needed to be done quickly. The second goal was a bit more long term, but reachable if the first goal was accomplished.

The Caretakers needed to balance the odds a bit in their favor. Even if the Usurpers were numerous enough, they would never consent to an alliance with the Caretakers. Most of the technology their species possessed had been lost, but much had been rediscovered. They were close to rediscovering the technology they needed to solve this particular problem.

The Caretakers would soon have the technology to build subspace beacons. H'minee did not know for certain how many beacons would be needed, but estimated that six would be sufficient to send a subspace signal the required distance. Once the signal was received, a Progenitor fleet would arrive relatively soon after and Manifold Six could be cleansed of this contaminating influence. Once cleansed and restored, the Manifold experiment could resume without further interruption.

Manifold Six, and possibly the universe, would be rid of this disgusting species.

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